


Ten Paces

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, DCBB 2016, Eventual Happy Ending, I promise, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mentions of/References to Physical/Emotional Abuse, Minor Character Death, Mpreg, Suicide, Violence, War, alpha!Castiel, honestly everyone dies, mentions of adultery, omega!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:26:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 23
Words: 95,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8259535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Castiel Novak, an Alpha, was orphaned in the Caribbean at a young age, fighting for most of his life for anything he could get. It wasn't long before he found himself in British America in the middle of a revolution, fighting to try to make the world just a little better.Dean Winchester, an Omega, was born into one of the most prominent families in New York. His father was an important figure in the war effort, and Dean often wondered when his father would marry him off to form a connection to another family.A chance meeting at a ball in the middle of a war changes both of their lives. Through the revolution and beyond, the world changes rapidly, with fighting coming from all sides.In the end, perhaps all the fighting is worth it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A Hamilton!au featuring a more historically accurate timeline (except where it isn't) and a bit of reordering.
> 
> Infinite thanks to the talented [fem-castielnovak](http://fem-castielnovak.tumblr.com/) for her [incredible artwork](http://fem-castielnovak.tumblr.com/post/152355016600/ten-paces-by-me-sorta-art-by-fem-castielnovak) for this story! It's amazing and I'm so grateful for it.
> 
> Also a big thank you to my friend [the-art-of-fangirling](http://the-art-of-fangirling.tumblr.com/), since it was [an ask she received almost a year ago](http://the-art-of-fangirling.tumblr.com/post/133242680184/spn-hamilton-au-whos-who-p-sure-dean-would-be) (and subsequent conversation) that inspired this story!
> 
> I am so excited to finally be sharing this! I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. Please comment as you read, or [come talk to me](http://titlecomingsoon.tumblr.com/ask) about it if you want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> Alexander Hamilton

 [](http://fem-castielnovak.tumblr.com/)

Life in the Caribbean in the eighteenth century wasn't kind to many, and Castiel Novak - a bastard born to unmarried and unmated parents in the mid-1750s - was no exception.

He would later hear that his first few years of life were quite pleasant, though he could never recall anything but hardship, starting when he was very young.

His illegitimate birth meant that within the community he was seen as less-than. The local school was run by the church, and they wouldn’t have a bastard child learning alongside their children. He was upset by this, having been fascinated from an early age by books and what they contained. Instead of attending school at the schoolhouse, he read books from the family library, which wasn’t as large as he wanted it to be. He found allies in the community who saw a lack of education for any child as a disgrace and taught him what they could, going so far as to include him in their own children’s education.

When Castiel was ten, his father left. He was never sure why, but his mother said it was because her husband, the man she was still legally married to (though they never mated), wanted to divorce her on the grounds of adultery. Apparently there would have been repercussions against her if Cas’ father stuck around, perhaps even legal action against Cas’ father. Cas believed this was true, but the debt collectors who often came by the house looking for Mr. Novak led him to believe that maybe his father had been running from something as well, and when he was far older, he would look back and believe that this was the main cause of his father’s decision to abandon them, though he would never find out for sure.

For two years after his father left, Cas and his mother scraped by. His mother, a strong-willed Beta, managed to find work at a shop in town, but it was tough going for the two of them.

When Cas was twelve, almost thirteen, he was dealt another blow.

His mother fell ill. At first, it was a slight cough. She waved it off when Cas expressed concern over her health.

“A cold, nothing more,” she said. She went about her day as she always did, keeping the house in order, working during the day, making sure Cas was on top of what schoolwork he had to do; she was always grateful the private school had taken him in when the local parish school hadn’t.

When the slight cough progressed to a heave that would shake her whole figure, she had to lean on the counter to steady herself. Still, she waved Cas off, taking her homemade remedies.

“Should I get the doctor?” Cas asked after one of his mother’s coughing fits.

“No Castiel,” she replied, shrugging off his concern. She was thinking of their dwindling supply of money, and how if they called the doctor they very likely wouldn’t have enough money left to pay for food until the next time she was paid.

One morning, Cas walked into the kitchen to find it empty. Concerned, he knocked on his mother’s bedroom door. When he heard the muffled reply, he pushed it open cautiously. He found his mother still in bed, an arm over her eyes as if to fend off the world.

“Mother?” he asked.

She peeked at him from under her arm and offered a weak smile. “Castiel,” she said, her voice soft.

Cas stepped into the room slowly, unsure of what to do. “What do you need?” he asked.

“Bring me a wet cloth,” she requested.

Cas nodded and nearly ran from the room. He’d never seen his mother so sick in his life.

He returned a few moments later with a cool cloth, and his mother requested he find her friend Hannah Carroll. Cas eagerly made his way to the other woman’s house and told her what was going on. Hannah was always willing to help them, and this was no exception.

Two days later, Cas fell ill himself, feeling the disease spread through him as it had through his mother, starting with a slight cough and progressing to aches and shivers. Hannah had no choice but to fetch the doctor.

Castiel preferred not to remember his treatment. He and his mother were forced to share the attic, where the doctor believed the heat would help draw out the illness. He remembered the bloodletting and the herbal remedies that made him gag. The smell in the room was unbearable, neither of them able to wash up after themselves when they were sick.

“Castiel.”

Cas lifted his head from the haze that occupied his mind at his mother’s voice. He saw her beckoning him over, and he managed to crawl from his cot to her side.

“My boy,” she whispered when he was close enough. She reached out blindly and wrapped her arms around him clumsily, her body hot against Cas’, despite his own fever.

Cas felt as if he were still in a dream, as if none of this was actually happening. He coughed against his mother and felt her body shake too.

The next thing he could remember was lying on the floor beside his mother’s cot, with his mother still above him. It hadn’t seemed real then.

It wasn’t long before Castiel was healthy again. He was grateful that the landlord was kind enough to help sort out his mother’s funeral and expenses. Cas moved in with his cousin, who he could only remember as morose.

His cousin was a Beta and a failed businessman on the verge of bankruptcy. Cas was sure the only reason his cousin had taken him in was because they were family; it certainly wasn’t because he was well enough off to support a thirteen year old. Cas also noticed him coming home at odd hours, and later figured out he was keeping an Omega mistress and their illegitimate child.

When Cas was fourteen, he presented as an Alpha. The only benefit he could see from this was that people finally looked at him as if he were more than the orphaned bastard son of a shopkeeper. His designation seemed to afford him some kind of inherent respect that made his skin crawl; no one had cared for him before, and he found it hard to believe that being an Alpha should change their opinions so drastically.

Only a few weeks after Cas presented, his cousin killed himself. Cas had come home to find him dead on the floor in the den, a drying pool of blood on the floor around his head, a pistol loosely gripped in his lifeless fingers.

With nowhere else to go, Cas moved in with Hannah and her family, though he felt awkward and out of place there. His cousin had left his possessions to his mistress, but Cas’ grandfather had fought to get the books for Cas. It was more than anyone but his mother had done for him, and Cas read the books as quickly as he could, often staying up well past midnight to read, his eyes straining from the weak light of the candle on his bedside table.

Cas’ grandfather died soon after.

Tragedy on his tail, Cas withdrew and read everything he could get his hands on. Just before his fifteenth birthday, he was offered a job by his late mother’s landlord. He took it, of course, and became an errand boy for _Beekman & Cruger_, a trading company that did work in the Caribbean and Antilles, sometimes going so far as Spanish Florida.

Cas didn’t much like running errands, but it was better than sitting around doing nothing, since he couldn’t afford any more schooling. He read in every spare moment he had, which were few and far between. Often he would put off sleep to read _just one more page_.

Soon he proved to be intelligent, and in correcting errors he noticed by looking over the clerk’s shoulder, he worked his way up to work on trading ships. He bartered for the company and kept track of transactions, with no patience for anyone who might try to cheat their way out of paying, despite his young age. He learned quickly that to keep his mouth shut was to let someone ignore him, and ignored was not a state he wanted to be in; when he had something to say, he said it – loudly and clearly if need be.

By seventeen, he was in charge of his own trading charter within the company. At one point, the owner left him in charge of the company for a full five months. And while the work was good and he was able to earn his keep, Cas was disgusted by what he saw. In several places, Omegas of all shapes and sizes were treated like property, seen as good only for reproduction and menial tasks no one else felt like doing. He had already been aware of the low standing of Omegas, of course, but what he saw on his trade routes was nothing short of cruelty. It wasn’t long until he became vocal about the injustices he saw. It didn’t gain him any favors in his business, but it earned him grateful looks from the Omegas who worked with their heads down, avoiding eye contact. Many of them had never met an Alpha who cared so much for their well-being simply because they were human.

Not long after Cas was placed in charge of his own charter, a hurricane blew through the Caribbean, destroying much of his hometown. He was home when it came through, and he sat in his room, watching the wind and rain outside his window even though he knew he should be somewhere safer. The house creaked around him, and water was leaking in from the rain on the roof and over the window sill.

Cas didn’t see anything to do. He read as much as he could while he was trapped inside, but for the most part he wrote. He wrote about what he heard and what he saw – trees uprooted, homes destroyed, ships tossed inland (some he recognized as those he was in charge of). He was powerless to fix it, so he wrote on it; it was all he could think to do.

After the hurricane, while he was helping to clear out damage, Hannah found what he had written.

“Castiel?” she said as she walked around the side of the house, his papers in her hand.

“Yes?” Cas asked, glancing up briefly before dropping the wood he was carrying unceremoniously onto the pile. He was moving as much driftwood as he could, starting with their yard and then moving on to the neighbors’ as he finished.

“You wrote these?” Hannah asked, holding up the papers.

Cas knit his brows and took the sheets from her. He skimmed them quickly. “Yes ma’am,” he said, handing them back. “I wrote them. I couldn’t think of anything else to do.”

Hannah blinked at him, then at the pages. “This is…poetic.”

“Yes, I suppose,” Cas said, running a hand through his disheveled hair.

“Have you considered publishing it?” Hannah asked.

Cas shrugged, continuing with his work; the sooner he was finished, the sooner he could get back to reading before he had to set out on whatever ships were left in usable condition. It was fun to go through all the books Hannah’s family had in their library, since there weren’t many other places to get books on the island. “I could,” he said simply. He hadn’t put any serious thought into it; it was simply something he had written.

Hannah shook her head and made her way back inside. The boy was useless for conversation when he was working. She’d bring it up again over dinner, if she could get a word in edgewise.

In the end, the paper was written and published in the _Royal Danish-American Gazette._ It was published anonymously, but Hannah had her ways of letting people know it had been Castiel’s work. There were many comments on the brilliance of the work, and many couldn’t believe that it had come from the mind of a boy whose education had been so lacking.

Soon there was a collection taken up on the island to send Cas to the British colonies, where he could finish the education he had started. Hannah put up a significant portion of what was collected, matching what she could of the other donations. _Beekman & Cruger_ was willing to put up funds as well, and it was only a few weeks until Hannah was seeing him off.

“You take care of yourself,” she said at the docks, waiting for boarding.

Cas snorted. “Would I do anything else?”

Hannah raised an eyebrow at him. “You have a habit of working too hard. Don’t push yourself.”

“I didn’t get enough time to learn as a child. I have to make up for lost time,” Cas said.

Hannah shook her head. “In any case, don’t push yourself too hard.”

Cas smiled at her. “Take care, Hannah. Thank you for your help all these years.”

“Little Castiel. Off to New York.”

Cas ducked his head for a moment. “Thank you. Truly.”

“Yes, well,” Hannah said, wiping quickly at her eyes. “Get your education. Don’t forget us here; remember where you came from.”

“Certainly,” Cas said with a smile.

Hannah’s smile was small but fond as she watched him heft his bag and make his way up the gangplank to the great ship. She had to dab at her eyes as the ship pulled out and started on its journey north.

*~*~*~*~*

The trip went smoothly enough – certainly no rougher than what Cas had already experienced on his trade routes in the Caribbean.

“What’re you goin’ for?” someone asked, bumping into him.

Cas looked down at the drunken Beta. “Something to be a part of,” he said after a moment of thought. He gazed back over the sea from the railing.

The man laughed, bent nearly double, and clapped Cas painfully on the back. “Good luck with that,” he said, stumbling on his way.

But there _was_ something to be a part of. News had been coming down from Britain’s colonies for years, and there was a rebellion brewing, even just beginning.

The year was 1774.

Castiel could feel a pull toward this new place, toward the place he could make something of himself as he never could have dreamed to do on Nevis. His fingers itched for all he could write; his mind raced for all he could read.

The ship docked in New York, and Cas disembarked briefly to collect the scholarship that had been delivered for him before embarking again to make his way to New Jersey. It wasn’t ideal, but he would need to fill in the gaps in his education before he could continue to an American University. He was determined to get it done so he could be on his way and find all there was for him here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Aaron Burr, Sir  
> My Shot  
> The Story of Tonight

**1776  
New York City**

Cas paced through the streets of Manhattan. He was searching for someone, and he’d be damned if he didn’t find answers.

He’d been in the administration offices at Princeton University after finishing his secondary education in only two years. He hadn’t found it difficult; in fact, the work had been almost too easy. His plan had then been to attend Princeton and finish the curriculum in another two years. Unfortunately, those in charge at Princeton hadn’t seen the merit in his plan, and he’d quickly been overruled.

“I know you’ve had students complete the program in two years,” Cas had said. There had been force behind his words, though his tone was still polite.

“Only one student has done so recently,” the administrator, an aging Alpha who was obviously of higher birth than Cas, had replied. His voice was iron, and it grated on Cas’ nerves. “And that was Fergus MacLeod.”

As if that name was supposed to mean something to Cas. Maybe this MacLeod fellow was someone important.

Cas had argued his case for more than half an hour, but it seemed the older man had a counter to everything he could say, which was how Cas had come to find himself wandering around Manhattan, searching for someone he only had a name and a vague description for.

The day was hot and humid, and with his search so far turning up fruitless, Cas was suitably frustrated. His annoyed scent was strong enough that even over the mingled smells of hundreds of people and the Hudson and East Rivers, others on the streets were giving him space, despite the distinct lack of space to give. Someone bumped into Cas and he tensed, giving off a more angry scent than a moment before.

“Get a drink, would ya?” someone said. “Jesus, calm down.”

Maybe it was the humidity making Cas’ skin itch, but he wanted to growl at the man who had spoken to him. He managed to bite his tongue, ducking into the tavern he was passing. It wasn’t any cooler inside, and the patrons gave him weird looks. Cas forced himself to calm down as he approached the bar.

The woman behind the bar was a middle-aged Alpha who eyed him distastefully as she walked over to where Cas was sitting, wiping down a glass as she went. “Can I get you something?” The statement was friendly enough, but her rough tone belied any politeness that might have been attached to the words.

“Just a pint,” Cas said, bristling at the way the woman looked at him.

The Alpha seated beside him at the bar snorted at Cas’ order. “The beer here is bloody awful,” he said. His accent sounded British, and it immediately made Cas believe that this other Alpha had had far better tutors than Cas had had.

“What would you suggest?” Cas asked with a roll of his eyes.

“Here? Nothing,” the man replied, taking a pull from the drink in front of him. “I _suggest_ the pubs in Scotland.”

Cas furrowed his brow and glanced over at the other man before he did a double take and studied him closer.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, giving Cas an annoyed look.

“Apologies,” Cas said, his annoyance from a moment before now completely forgotten, “but would you happen to be Fergus MacLeod?”

The man rolled his eyes and took another pull from his drink. “It’s Crowley,” he said.

“Sir?” Cas asked, thrown off guard. The name Crowley hadn’t come up at Princeton.

“Who’s asking?” Crowley pressed.

“Castiel Novak,” Cas introduced himself, extending a hand as much as he could in the short space between them. “At your service.”

“Pleasure,” Crowley said, still a little unsure. He shook Cas’ hand though, and Cas counted that as a good sign.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Cas continued.

Crowley raised an eyebrow, taking in Cas’ disheveled appearance. Cas didn’t even think to be embarrassed about his second-hand clothes in that moment; he was more excited that he’d finally have a way to get through Princeton.

“Should I be nervous?” Crowley asked. His voice was cool, but his scent betrayed him: not quite calm and collected, though he also didn’t smell nervous just yet.

Cas shook his head. “I applied to Princeton. For an accelerated curriculum,” he explained. “I wanted to graduate in two years, join the revolution. They told me you were the only one to do that recently.”

“You have a point, I assume,” Crowley prompted, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“I do,” Cas said, ignoring the drink that was set on the bar in front of him. “I wanted to know how you did it.”

“Spite, mostly,” Crowley said, raising his glass in a mock toast and taking a sip.

“Sorry?” Cas asked, his head tilted in confusion.

“You see,” Crowley said, leaning forward conspiratorially, “my parents were bloody rotten. And before they died, they expressed their belief that I would never amount to anything.”

“You don’t mean that,” Cas guessed, recoiling almost visibly. Sure, he didn’t remember much of his parents, but he wouldn’t think that parents would actually allow their children to doubt their worth.

Crowley barked a laugh. “Of course I mean it,” he said, sitting back again. “They were the worst people I ever met. So,” he shrugged, “when they died, the best thing I could think to do was exactly what they told me I couldn’t.”

“Oh,” Cas said. He wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. He had hardly known his father, but his mother would never have allowed him to believe he couldn’t amount to anything. “You’re an orphan?” he asked, to change the subject. “I’m an orphan.”

“That so?” Crowley said. He certainly wasn’t the warmest person, but he had to admit Castiel was intriguing. “Where’d you come from?”

“Nevis, in the Caribbean,” Cas replied.

Crowley _hmm_ ed at that. He’d never been down there, and he really had no desire to make the trip; he hadn’t heard a great deal of praise for the area. “Rough place,” he commented.

Cas nodded. “And it’s hard to change anything when you come from a place like that,” he said. “I’ve always thought it would be more conducive to what I want to do if there was a war going on, since that’s the only way someone like me can be taken seriously.”

“You’re an Alpha,” Crowley pointed out, as if he hoped this conversation would stop heading in the direction Castiel seemed to be taking it.

Cas raised an eyebrow at him. “As if that makes a difference in the long run,” he shot back. “People take one look at me and write me off, Alpha or not. I need a way to prove what I stand for.”

Crowley sighed. “You want to get where you’re going, let me offer you some advice.”

Cas perked up in his seat, leaning forward attentively.

“Talk less,” Crowley said.

“What?” Cas asked, blinking in confusion.

“Smile more,” Crowley continued, dragging a finger across his lips and quirking one of the corners up.

Cas huffed a laugh uncertainly. He faced forward for a moment, noticed for the first time that his beer had arrived. He took a wary sip.

“You see, you can’t let people know what it is you want to do,” Crowley explained.

“You can’t be serious?” Cas said, brows drawn, searching Crowley’s face for some clue as to what the joke was.

“Look, you want to get ahead?” Crowley asked, with the patience of a long-suffering parent.

“Yes,” Cas replied, determination in his voice.

Crowley shrugged. “Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead,” he said. There was suddenly a loud commotion from one of the corner tables, and Cas and Crowley glanced in that direction – Cas curiously, Crowley distastefully. “Take that lot over there,” Crowley said, gesturing to the group with his glass.

“You know them?” Cas asked, glancing between Crowley and the group. Crowley was so much more reserved than the group seemed, and he couldn’t see a connection between them.

“I do know them,” Crowley replied, taking another sip of his drink, as if acknowledging that he knew a particularly rowdy group of people required he try to drink the knowledge from his memory.

“Who are they?” Cas asked. This time he didn’t look away from the group.

“Samuel Winchester, Charlene Bradbury, and Kevin Tran,” Crowley said without glancing over again.

The group must have heard him mention their names, because in the next second they were walking over and clapping him on the back.

“It’s been a while Crowley,” the tallest one said. He was an Alpha, and he would have been threatening if he weren’t stumbling along like an overgrown puppy in his not-yet-entirely-drunk state. “Where’ve you been?”

“Quebec,” Crowley said, not unkindly. He didn’t have an approving look on his face when the other Alpha motioned for another drink.

“What brings you back here?”

“General Montgomery couldn’t keep himself alive,” Crowley said, sliding his drink between his hands. “Without the General, the British got the upper hand. Sent the rest of us packing.”

“Oh, you have a friend,” one of the others said suddenly when she noticed Cas. She was an Alpha, and she had a curious look on her face. “Charlene Bradbury,” she introduced herself. She had a French accent that thickened her speech. “You may call me Charlie.”

“Charlie,” Cas repeated, committing the name to memory. “What brings you here?”

“Revolution, of course,” Charlie said with a tipsy laugh. “In France, we are not too fond of the British. And I _am_ fond of your ideals of freedom. To help you tell the King _casse toi_ was an opportunity I could not pass on.”

Cas laughed at that. He heard the other two of Charlie’s group, Samuel and Kevin, laugh as well. Cas thought he noticed Crowley crack a smile.

“This is Samuel Winchester,” Charlie added, gesturing to the big Alpha who had spoken before.

“Call me Sam,” Sam said, reaching around Crowley to shake Cas’ hand. He used his free hand to brush his shaggy brown hair away from his face. “Samuel’s my grandfather.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Sam,” Cas said.

Sam walked to the stool beside Cas and plopped down on it, motioning for the bartender to replace his empty beer. “You know, the Sam Adams isn’t too bad,” he said when the Alpha behind the bar grabbed a glass down for him.

“That’s because you’re drunk,” Crowley said, grimacing. “You can’t taste it.”

Sam narrowed his eyes at Crowley and pointedly took a sip of his drink.

“And this is Kevin Tran,” Charlie interrupted, resting a hand on the shoulder of the last of their group, who had remained silent so far.

“Good to meet you,” Kevin said, reaching out to shake Cas’ hand. He had a firmer grip than Cas had expected from the Beta, and even though Kevin wasn’t talking much, Cas could see something intelligent, crafty even, hiding just beneath the surface. He made a mental note to remain on Kevin’s good side.

“And you,” Cas said, releasing Kevin’s hand.

“You aren’t from here,” Kevin guessed.

Cas shook his head. “I came for education. And the Revolution,” he said with a nod in Charlie’s direction. “There was nothing for me at home.”

“Where’s home?” Sam asked.

“Nevis,” Cas replied. “In the Caribbean.”

Sam’s brow creased. “What’s it like down there?” He had heard stories, sure, but Sam had never had occasion to make the trip south.

Cas thought for a moment. “Hot,” he finally said, “not exactly a hive of activity. We didn’t have much.”

“How did you get here?” Charlie asked curiously. “If you did not have much.”

“One of my mother’s best friends took up collection for me,” Cas explained, a small smile on his face at the thought of Hannah; he hadn’t heard from her in a few months, and he made a mental note to write her a letter that evening. “She found a paper I had written, and she said it was brilliant.” His smile grew at the memory. “She had it published.” Cas shrugged. “It was good enough to convince the community that I needed to be here, not there, to complete my education.”

“And the Revolution?” Charlie pressed.

“A way to change things,” Cas said simply. “I ran trade routes when I lived on Nevis, and the things I saw…” Cas trailed off with a slight shake of his head. “No one deserves that.”

Sam was nodding, and placed a friendly hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I can understand that,” he said, oddly sober considering he’d had at least three drinks since he’d joined them at the bar. “My sister’s a Beta, but both of my brothers are Omegas. And I have never seen my father as possessive and controlling of anything as he is of my brothers. It’s like they’re bargaining chips instead of people.”

“Be glad that’s all they are,” Cas said darkly, shrugging Sam’s hand off his shoulder, remembering the hollow, empty faces of the Omegas he’d seen. He drained the rest of his warm beer, grimacing at the stale taste.

“I have often dreamed of a life without monarchies,” Charlie said. “Already there is unrest in France. Similar to here.” The way Charlie spoke made Cas wonder if there was something she wasn’t saying. But when she noticed Cas watching her expression, she smiled at him. “That is why I came here,” she added, more cheerfully this time. “To fight, and send the King running. And when he has run off, I will go back to France and help my people.”

Cas smiled at her and turned to Kevin who, as ever, was quietly watching the conversation unfold. “What do you think Kevin?” Cas asked.

“I’m in this mess to get somewhere,” Kevin said with a slight smirk. “I’m a tailor’s apprentice. And there isn’t much in that,” he explained with a shrug. “It’s nice work if you can get it. It’s the getting it that’s the trouble. This thing’s the chance I have to make something of myself.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Cas said, motioning for the bartender to bring him another drink.

“But we aren’t going to be free when this is all over,” Sam said. “Not really. Not until we’re all free.”

Cas nodded, lifting his new glass to Sam in a toast before taking a drink.

“Would you keep it down?” Crowley hissed at them, glancing around the pub to see if anyone was paying them any attention. Luckily, the other patrons seemed to be caught up in their own conversations. “You’re going to cause trouble.”

“Perhaps we want trouble,” Charlie teased.

“We’re already _in_ trouble,” Crowley pointed out, his voice still low. “You’re already fighting a fucking _war_. If you keep from causing any more trouble, you’ll double the choices you have after the _bloody_ thing is _over_.” Crowley glared between his four companions who seemed to have made themselves at home around him. “We’re on the same side, but in this situation, you have to keep your head down. The other option is a bullet.”

Cas narrowed his eyes curiously at Crowley. “We are more than capable of defending our positions,” he said calmly.

Crowley shook his head and stood, throwing a few coins on the counter to pay for his drink. He gave a terse, though not impolite, farewell and made his way out the door into the bustling streets. The sun was starting to set, and someone was already going around to light the streetlamps.

Kevin, Sam, and Charlie went back to the conversation quickly, their words rising and falling, occasionally slurring. But Cas caught on the last thing Crowley had said. _The other option is a bullet_.

Cas had contemplated death before. Hell, he’d imagined it. Especially in his early teen years, he’d even considered it. No, he wasn’t afraid of death. Sometimes he’d humor himself and wonder how it would be that he would die. Peacefully, in his sleep? In a riding accident on his way between towns? Was he supposed to embrace it? Was he supposed to fight it? Where he was from, he had known too many people who died young. But Cas had almost twenty years, and he finally felt like he could do something with them.

“A toast,” Charlie said, dragging Cas from his thoughts when she raised her glass. “To freedom.”

Cas smiled, raising his glass as well. “Something they can never take away,” he added.

They drank.

As their glasses were refilled, the group was oddly silent, each lost in their own minds.

“We may not live to see the end of this,” Kevin said solemnly.

“It’s worth the risk,” Sam said. “Some things just are.”

“They’ll talk about this, you know,” Cas said thoughtfully. When he noticed the curious looks the others were giving him, he elaborated. “Our children. And their children. When we’ve been gone for centuries. They’ll start here.”

“Shitty beer and all,” Kevin said with a nod toward his glass.

Charlie laughed. “There will be embellishments, I am sure,” she said.

“So, a toast to getting this started,” Sam said, raising his glass.

“To Revolution,” Charlie added as she held her glass aloft.

“To making something for ourselves,” Kevin chimed in.

Cas smiled at that. “To making things happen.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> The Schuyler Sisters  
> 

Dean followed his sister through the streets of Manhattan, sticking close by her side. It was difficult enough to keep up with Jo when she was on a mission, but Dean had to make sure they didn’t lose Adam in the mess as well.

“Jo! Wait up,” Dean called after her when he had to stop to keep Adam from falling too far behind.

Jo glanced over her shoulder and turned on her heel, making her way back to her brothers. “Hurry up. We’re going to miss it,” she said impatiently.

“We’ll make it,” Dean assured her. He glared at an Alpha who was eyeing her as he walked by. “Just, stick close by, okay?”

Jo rolled her eyes at her brother’s concern, but she knew he was right. The fact that they were John Winchester’s children kept the majority of people from bothering them (to get on John Winchester’s bad side was, at best, the stupidest thing one could do), but it didn’t mean that the worst  of the worst, or even those who were hoping for a political marriage, would necessarily stop from trying anything. Jo and Dean and Adam were safer together. Though, truth be told, there were many who would say it was Jo’s responsibility, as the Beta of the group, to make sure nothing unseemly happened to her Omega brothers, a sentiment Jo staunchly objected and rejected – often loudly; she knew Dean was a better protector than she was, designation be damned.

“We were supposed to be home by sundown,” Adam said as he caught up, eyeing the streetlamps uncertainly. Already someone was going around to light them. “Dad’s not going to be happy.”

“Dad doesn’t need to know,” Jo said, waving off her brother’s concern as she turned and continued the direction she’d been headed. “He and mom aren’t home, and Donna’s certainly not going to tell him.” Donna was a bubbly Beta woman who worked as their nanny. With John and Mary not at home, Donna was left in charge, and while she would catch hell if John found out she had let Dean and Jo and Adam go downtown on their own, she was more than willing to let them explore, as long as they stuck close together.

“We’re not even supposed to _be_ downtown,” Adam protested, practically gluing himself to Dean’s side when an Alpha woman passed too closely.

“You’re free to go,” Dean said. “You didn’t have to come with us.” Even as he said it, Dean wrapped his arm protectively around his brother. Adam was only fourteen, and he’d just presented the year before; he wasn’t used to the looks Alphas and some Betas were throwing at him, and it made him skittish.

“No, I’ll stay,” Adam said. He enjoyed watching the debates almost as much as Jo did. Weird strangers aside, he liked going into Manhattan with his siblings, and he was glad they would sneak out of the house to do so.

“Then if dad finds out, you can blame me,” Jo said, pausing again to let them catch up again.

Dean had to admit that saying it was Jo’s idea was probably the better course of action; he and Adam weren’t exactly their father’s pride and joy. That title would have gone to Sam, had he shared his father’s views and stuck around. But Sam had left almost a year before – ran off to play soldier in the Revolution. And while Dean missed his brother and wanted almost nothing more than to have Sam home, a part of him envied Sam’s freedom to leave.

Sam wasn’t the oldest – that was Dean. Jo was only a year behind Dean, with Sam three years younger than her, and Adam two years after Sam. Dean had enjoyed his early years, but when he presented as an Omega, something changed. He could still feel his mother’s love, but his father grew distant. The distance only grew worse when Jo presented as a Beta. John would have preferred a Beta son to a daughter, but a Beta daughter was better than an Omega. And then it was obvious that Sam was an Alpha, and even Jo felt a distance between her and their father. And then Adam had presented as an Omega, and because of the way John had responded, Sam had left. Dean thought he might have left too, if there was any place in the world for a homeless Omega that was even remotely pleasant.

“I love the smell of revolution in the evening,” Jo said when they reached the Commons. It was a yard outside King’s College, and students of the College, Patriots and Loyalists alike, would often debate while the yard wasn’t being used for military purposes (which, according to Jo, were not as fun to watch).

“It’s bad enough that dad wants to go to war,” Adam said quietly, a worried edge to his voice. He was still pressed up against Dean’s left side.

“It’s not so bad,” Dean lied. He shrugged when Adam looked up at him.

“They’re going to be fighting real close to us,” Adam added, glancing in the direction of the harbor. With all the people, it was impossible to see three feet ahead of him, but Adam could already imagine battleships on the water. His anxiety must have been coming through in his scent, because Dean held him closer for just a moment and rubbed his arm reassuringly.

“We’ll be fine, little brother,” Dean promised. He wasn’t sure he could keep that promise, but it was comforting to say, nonetheless.

“There are so many new ideas coming out of it though,” Jo added, leaning around Dean so she could see Adam. Her face was bright despite the tension that was always just beneath the surface when talking about the war.

“It’s history in the making,” Dean agreed. “We’re lucky to be alive right now.”

Adam wasn’t sure how he felt about that idea; he’d already heard some horror stories floating around about the fighting that was going on, and they weren’t stories he considered himself lucky to be around to hear.

As the first debate started, the Winchester siblings quieted to watch. The debates didn’t usually draw a crowd (most of the city was enjoying their evening meal when the debates were going on), but there were a few people at the edge of the Commons who stopped, at least for a moment, to watch.

Crowley was walking by the Commons when he heard the first debater start projecting across the space. He almost never cared to watch, but he had heard whispers that John Winchester’s children liked to sneak down to observe, and a connection to the Winchester family was one Crowley knew would benefit him.

Though Crowley had only met John Winchester and his children once (with the exception of Sam, whom he had the displeasure to see on a regular basis), it wasn’t hard to spot them; they were standing at the edge of the Commons, dressed in plainer clothes than their name entitled them to, and Crowley assumed that was done on purpose, so as not to draw attention to themselves. Crowley made his way through the thinning crowds of people to stand at the side of John’s Beta daughter.

Jo tried to keep her attention on the debate in front of her, but Crowley’s appearance made it hard to concentrate – and not for any good reason.

“Excuse me miss,” Crowley said after a few moments, finally addressing Jo.

Jo glanced over at him and raised a brow. She didn’t want to talk, and the longer he stood beside her, the more she thought she could faintly smell alcohol on him, though he didn’t seem drunk. “Can I help you?” she asked. It came out sharper and more sarcastic than she’d intended, and she felt Dean shift behind her, probably for a better angle to watch Crowley.

“I was wondering why a young woman of your stature would be out downtown without an escort,” Crowley said, inclining his head in her direction.

Jo did her best to stop her lip from curling in a sneer. “I can handle myself,” she said, keeping her voice even with well-concealed effort. It took all her willpower not to mention that her brothers were more than capable of escorting her through the city; she knew of Crowley by name only, having only met him once, and didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to the fact that she was traveling with two Omegas, in case that ended poorly for Dean and Adam.

“Of course,” Crowley agreed. “But you shouldn’t need to. And you certainly aren’t going to find someone suitable by coming to watch this rabble.”

“I believe I can be the judge of the suitability of my companions,” Jo said. She kept her voice light, but she knew there was an edge to her voice that didn’t leave room for argument. She could smell Dean’s scent change to something more protective, and she reached behind her to surreptitiously take his hand, squeezing it gently; she didn’t need him to jump at this Alpha and cause himself more grief.

“Pardon me for implying otherwise,” Crowley said, trying to placate her. “I only meant-”

“I know what you meant,” Jo interrupted, seething under her composed exterior. She knew she probably smelled furious, but she made sure to keep her voice level. “And I guarantee it won’t happen.”

“I beg your pardon?” Crowley asked, caught off guard.

“I’m a Beta,” Jo said matter-of-factly, and she could feel Dean squeeze her fingers as a reminder to keep calm. “A Beta _woman_ ,” she clarified, “and if I were a man, I’d have my father’s good graces. As I am, my purpose is to marry.” Jo could feel her disgust twisting her features, but she didn’t care to stop it this time. “You want a connection to my family. And I’m telling you no.”

Crowley watched her for a moment, silent. He had heard several things about Joanna-Beth Winchester, but he hadn’t expected her to be so straightforward. She was cutting in her remarks, and Crowley floundered for a moment before he found his voice again. “My apologies,” he finally said.

“I suggest you leave,” Dean said, his voice ice cold.

Crowley glanced at the Omega behind Jo, curious. He knew, of course, that he could muscle his way past whatever Dean Winchester told him, but he admired the fact that Dean looked ready to rip someone’s throat out on his sister’s behalf.

“Always a pleasure,” Crowley said, inclining his head toward the siblings politely before he made his way down the now nearly-empty street.

Dean released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Fucking Alphas,” he breathed.

“He’s gone now,” Jo said, turning her attention back toward the debate. She watched in silence for a minute or so to allow herself to calm down.

“Are Alphas always like that?” Adam asked, his voice quiet so he wouldn’t break into Jo’s concentration. “Do they always talk because they want something?”

“Most of them,” Dean replied.

It wasn’t much longer until staying out would prove to be more dangerous than staying in, and the Winchesters made their way back uptown. As they walked, the houses became less run-down and piled on top of each other. Uptown, the houses became brick mansions, most with gardens in the back, some with what could comfortably be called small yards.

The Winchester home was large even for uptown, but with what had been a family of six, no one was surprised. When they walked in, the candles along the edge of the foyer were lit, giving off a soft yellow glow that did little more than illuminate a few feet around the candles themselves. With so many of them, it was just enough light to see by.

“Oh good, you’re home,” Donna said, walking out of one of the side halls. “I was afraid I was going to have to come find you.”

Dean smiled at Donna. Her voice was calm, but he could see where she’d been worrying the edge of the apron she wore around her waist. “We’re alright Donna,” he said.

“Do you need anything before you head up to bed?” Donna asked, glancing at each of the Winchesters in turn. “A snack? Something to drink?”

“I’d like a drink,” Adam said, stepping forward.

Donna smiled at him. “Anyone else?” she asked.

Dean and Jo both shook their heads. “No thank you,” they chorused.

“Then get on up to bed,” Donna said, nodding toward the staircase. She put a hand on Adam’s shoulder and led him back through the hallway she’d emerged from, toward the kitchen.

“You did good with Crowley,” Dean said quietly to Jo as they climbed the stairs.

“It wasn’t a problem,” Jo said, and Dean heard, rather than saw, the smile on her face.

“Well in that case, I take it back,” Dean said with a shrug. He laughed when Jo hit his shoulder.

“He had it coming,” Jo shot back.

“Fucking Alphas,” Dean agreed.

“Maybe he’ll think with his head next time,” Jo laughed, stopping when they came to her door.

Dean shrugged, pausing. “Not to give him credit or anything, but I think he was,” he said. He didn’t remember any aroused scent coming off of Crowley at all.

“Are you siding with an Alpha over me?”

“Never,” Dean said with a grin.

Jo rolled her eyes, a barely visible gesture in the light that was given off by the candles spaced every few feet down the hallway. “Goodnight,” she said, opening her door and stepping inside.

“Goodnight.” Dean heard Jo’s door close behind her and made his way to his own room. There was a lit candle set on his bedside table, already half burned-down. His nightclothes were set out on his bed, and he changed quickly. His thoughts wandered as he climbed under his covers and blew out the candle, and he couldn’t help that his thoughts kept returning to Crowley. Dean expected the unwelcome attention of Alphas, but that didn’t make it any easier or more comfortable to deal with. And when an Alpha had a motive, they didn’t often react as politely as Crowley had.

Dean shook his head and burrowed further under his blankets, trying to get thoughts of unwelcome Alphas out of his head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> Farmer Refuted

It was a typical summer day in New York City; sunny, clear, hot. The air was heavy with humidity coming off the rivers, making the city feel more like a sauna. Cas was walking with Crowley, Kevin, Charlie, and Sam on their way to the edge of town, where the sound of cannon- and musket fire awaited them, accompanied by smoke rising from the buildings further downtown. Cas had been quick to join the New York Militia after the night he’d met the group just a week before, and they were on their way to meet the troops where the fighting was becoming increasingly intense.

The war wasn’t going so well for the colonies; after a few early victories, the British reinforcements had arrived and had quickly proved why they were the world’s foremost fighting force. Still, it was early enough in the chaos that Cas was confident of their chances of victory; he didn’t think the losses were much to worry about, as long as the leadership was sound and the men were focused and organized.

Up ahead, on one side of the road, a small gathering of people was forming. There was one man who stood a head and a half above the others gathered around him, and Cas guessed he must be standing on a crate. Even from this distance, Cas could tell the man was dressed in fine attire, seemingly unaffected by the smothering heat. He was holding himself tall and straight as he surveyed those assembling around him.

Curious, Cas avoided the turn Sam had already started to take and approached the crowd. Crowley paused mid-step to watch Cas, an incredulous look on his face. He looked over at the others, looking for some kind of support, but Kevin just shrugged in a _what-can-you-do?_ kind of way as they followed after Cas. Crowley hesitated for a moment before joining them.

The group stood at the back of the gathered crowd. Cas was studying those around him, but he didn’t quite know what to make of them. The man standing on a crate (Cas could tell from here that the man was a Beta, and he had a gaunt face and an intelligent air about him) up front was not a person who immediately caught his fancy. “Do you know who he is?” Cas asked quietly, glancing over at his companions. There was quite a bit of murmuring going on around him, but he couldn’t make out much of it.

“I think that’s Garth Fitzgerald,” Sam said thoughtfully.

Cas blinked at him. “Who is he?” he asked. He might not have been around New York for very long, but he was more than a little upset at himself for not knowing about someone who could attract such a crowd simply by beckoning to people around him.

“He’s a prominent loyalist,” Crowley said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He smelled bored, which Cas found surprising. “He’s been publishing letters in newspapers condemning the Patriot cause.” He shrugged. “Apparently that wasn’t good enough and he now feels the need to speak publicly.” Crowley’s voice indicated that he felt this was frivolous and unnecessary and he really didn’t want to be there, especially with Cas, who had proven incapable of keeping his mouth shut.

“Here ye!” the man on the crate said, seeming to have decided that the crowd was big enough to start pulling their attention toward him. He had a sheet of paper in his hands, and he snapped it open. “Here ye! My name is Garth Fitzgerald” – here Cas threw a glance over at Sam, who shrugged before turning his attention back to the speech – “and I present free thoughts on the proceedings of the Continental Congress.”

Cas squinted at the speaker and pushed his way closer. Sam, Charlie, and Kevin followed close behind him, with Crowley trailing along after a moment. Crowley threw apologetic looks at the displaced audience members, but the others seemed content to ignore them.

“Heed not the rabble who scream, ‘Revolution!’ They have not your interests at heart,” Garth read in a warning tone reminiscent of a parent imparting a lesson on children who were prone to acting up.

“Why don’t you give him a run for his money?” Charlie whispered, nudging Cas in the ribs. She hadn’t known Cas for long, but she already understood that he was capable of ripping an argument to shreds and throwing it back at the speaker without batting an eye. Frankly, it was something she wanted to see.

Crowley, on the other hand, didn’t quite like where this was going. He kept one eye on Cas while Cas had his eye on Garth.

“Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution!” Garth exclaimed, loudly enough for his voice to attract the attention of several passers-by on the other side of the street. “Don’t let them lead you astray. This Congress does not speak for me,” he added, and he placed his hand over his heart and caught the eyes of several people in the crowd, as if to impart the gravity of that statement on them.

Cas had pushed his way to the front of the crowd, and Crowley saw him move to step forward. Crowley placed a hand on Cas’ shoulder, holding him back with an iron grip. “Let him be,” Crowley hissed. The last thing he wanted was to start a scene, especially since they really needed to get to the battalion. Cas shook the hand off his shoulder and gave Crowley a dubious look.

“They’re playing a dangerous game,” Garth said. He had noticed the group at the front of the crowd and seemed to sense that they were not a group that supported what he had to say; he seemed to be directing his words to them when he said, “I pray the King shows you his mercy.”

Cas shook his head and stepped forward before Crowley could grab his arm and pull him back. He was a head shorter than Garth, since he didn’t have anything to stand on, but that didn’t stop him from taking his place directly beside the speaker. Garth immediately looked at him in distaste and began repeating the speech. Cas shook his head and started his own speech, so their words overlapped. Though it wasn’t hard to hear Cas over Garth.

“If _he_ had his way,” Cas said, inclining his head toward Garth, “you’d all abandon our cause as hopeless. Start searching for a peaceful way to end this. But we’ve tried that; we’ve sent petitions to the King, and he won’t change. The Revolution’s _already here_.” Cas could tell the gathered crowd was shifting their attention between him and Garth before they settled on him. “The have-nots are going to win this.” He glanced up at the man beside him, still valiantly trying to present his rhetoric. Cas felt a mirthful smile creep across his face at the ridiculous arguments. “It’s hard to listen to you with a straight face,” he told the other man, earning a glare in return.

Cas glanced at his friends for a moment. Crowley looked annoyed, but Kevin and Charlie had grins plastered on their faces, like this was even better than they’d imagined it would be. Sam just looked impressed. Cas smirked, and directed his next words to the speaker beside him. “Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us. Do you remember _Boston_? The King taxes us, and then spends _our_ money on himself. Look at the cost, at all that we’ve lost, and you talk about _Congress_?” he demanded.

But Garth was trying not to pay any mind to the Patriot beside him; he was continuing with his speech, as if Cas weren’t even there. “This Congress does not speak for me,” he said, glancing around at the crowd. The barest amount of confusion and shock crossed his features when he realized that he wasn’t keeping their attention like the young upstart standing to his right. Though his outward appearance didn’t let on, Cas could smell the change in Garth’s mood from determined to something more like upset.

“ _Congress_ is speaking for the rest of us,” Cas said smugly, sweeping an arm in front of himself to indicate the gathered crowd.

“They’re playing a dangerous game,” Garth said forcefully, trying in vain to drive his point home. Then he glanced down at Cas, just barely. “I pray the King shows you his mercy.”

“Is he in Jersey?” Cas asked, looking over his shoulder toward the Hudson and beyond, as if he would be able to see the British monarch waiting on the other shore.

“For shame,” Garth said.

“For the Revolution,” Cas exclaimed, looking back at the crowd.

“For shame,” Garth repeated.

“For the Revolution!” the crowd cheered, led by Charlie, Sam, and Kevin. Crowley glanced around at the crowd, observing quietly.

Garth took a deep breath before facing the crowd again and glancing down at his paper. He might have been intending to continue, but his face showed traces of defeat.

Cas shook his head. “If you repeat yourself again, I’m going to scream,” he said. His gaze flicked between the speaker and sheet he was holding in front of him, and he added, “Honestly, look at me. Please don’t read.” Cas’ words might have been a polite request, if he hadn’t sounded annoyed and grabbed at Garth’s arm, forcing him to lower his hands.

When Garth looked at Cas again, Cas almost felt bad for him; really all he wanted to do was keep these people safe, and make sure they were thinking through what they wanted to do. And Garth truly believed fighting would end poorly. Surely he had his reasons, but Cas knew already that there was no reasoning with the Crown; they’d tried already, and it hadn’t worked. Fighting was the only way they were going to be treated fairly.

“Not _your_ interests,” Garth said forcefully, stepping down, seemingly to admit defeat and be on his way.

“Don’t start this and not finish it,” Cas said, taking a step toward Garth. “Why should _England_ , on the other side of the Atlantic, _regulate_ what we do _here_?” he asked. “And, may I add, regulate without letting us have a say in how they do it?”

“Castiel, please,” Crowley said, finally stepping forward and grabbing Cas by the upper arm, trying to pull him back into the crowd.

Cas wrested his arm free, glaring at Crowley. “Drop the niceties,” he said. “We can’t all live on the fence like you can, Crowley.”

“Silence!” someone yelled, and everyone immediately looked for who had said it. The man who had shouted was pointing down the street, to the figure of a man approaching them.

Cas squinted down the road, shielding his eyes from the sun so he could make out who it was.

When the figure was close enough, they could all see the Town Crier approaching, ringing his bell as he drew nearer. He was a stout Beta, his face red from shouting and the heat, his shirt clinging to him in the humidity.

“ _A message from the King,_ ” he shouted. “ _I have a message from the King._ ”

Cas looked over at his companions, who all looked as surprised as he felt. The King hadn’t responded to any of their petitions before the fighting had started, so it was unlikely he was going to cede anything to them at this point; it was more likely he was going to threaten them.

“What does the King say?” someone from the crowd asked when the Crier drew to a halt before them.

“Nothing good,” the Crier replied, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. The corners of the announcement wilted as the man unfolded it to read aloud.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> You'll Be Back

Lucifer stood at the window in his bedroom. When the sun was shining, it was a lovely view, but that was not the present case; as Lucifer gazed across the grounds, thick clouds were rolling in and thunder rumbled in the distance.

“What a day,” he said, chewing the inside of his lip thoughtfully. His schedule was full for the day, but before he could get to any of the fun, he would have to get through drafting an announcement to his colonies across the Atlantic. Thus far, he had avoided humoring them with responses to their petitions, but with things heating up the way they were, he was determined to put down the Revolution before it could gain too much traction.

Lucifer shook his head and made his way to his wardrobe. He took his time with getting ready, considering and discarding several outfits before he deemed one appropriate. Eventually, one of his advisors knocked on the door and let himself in almost before Lucifer told him to.

“Sire, we have a schedule to attend to,” the advisor said, not unkindly.

Lucifer raised a brow at the other man, but offered no acknowledgement of the familiarity with which his advisor addressed him. If the man weren’t a fellow Alpha, the order would not have gone over well. “What good is it to be the King,” Lucifer asked, straightening his crown, “if the schedule doesn’t wait for you?”

The advisor’s lips quirked into a slight smile, but it didn’t spread to the rest of his face. “Certainly.”

With one final check in the mirror, Lucifer swept out of the room, his advisor close behind him.

On their way to the sitting room, they passed several Omega servants, all keeping their eyes downcast and on their work, afraid of drawing the attention of their King; luckily for them, he was otherwise occupied for the time being.

“I don’t understand why you insist on giving them an answer. They belong to you – they don’t deserve an answer.”

Lucifer shook his head. “I’m not giving them an answer. I’m giving them a warning,” he said. “I’ll remind them that they are still under my command, and of the consequences of forgetting that.”

“Your troops have already pushed back against the militias the colonies were able to assemble,” the advisor reminded him.

Lucifer waved off the information. “It hasn’t been much – certainly not enough to completely dissuade them, since they still fight.”

“New troops are already on their way, sire.”

“So by the time the announcement reaches them, they will have had a better taste of what is waiting for them if they don’t stand down,” Lucifer shot back.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Lucifer twisted one of his rings pensively, wondering how he was going to go about wording his proclamation. In reality he had hoped the rebellion would work itself out quickly so there wouldn’t need to be a war. But if they insisted on fighting, there would be fighting.

“Your Highness,” someone said when Lucifer entered the sitting room. The assembled advisors stood when Lucifer walked in, until the King nodded for them to sit again.

“Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Lucifer said, taking his seat. He glanced around at the faces of the assembled Alphas, gauging how helpful they may be. Some looked back at him eagerly, and those were the ones Lucifer would watch out for. He preferred his advisors like the one who had come to fetch him: borderline annoyed, slightly bored.

The scribe who was seated just off to the side sat up straighter and dipped his quill in the inkwell when the King’s gaze fell on him. He was an obedient Omega, the mate of a Beta who worked within the castle close. He sat with his quill poised over the parchment and an expectant look on his face.

Everyone started talking at once. Lucifer politely pretended he was listening to what they were saying, but in reality he had already decided on what he wanted to say. It made his advisors feel important if they believed he was paying attention though, so he let them believe they were influencing him for a few minutes as he nodded along, feigning thoughtfulness.

When the noise in the room finally started to die down, Lucifer cleared his throat, effectively cutting off whatever sound was left. “Gentlemen, if I may,” he said, leaning forward in his seat and nodding to the scribe. “Start with all the official nonsense. You know, ‘From the desk of the King, to his American Colonies,’ et cetera.” There was a satisfying scratching as the scribe began to write. Lucifer lounged in his seat and steepled his fingers as he began to recite what he’d rehearsed on the walk from his chambers.

*~*~*~*~*

_A Message From His Royal Highness, the King Lucifer, to His American Colonies, Dated June 1776._

_You say the price of my love’s not a price that you’re willing to pay. Remember there is an arrangement in place regarding your conduct as citizens of my Empire; remember that despite our present situations, I am still your King. In the near future, you will come to remember that you are under my command, and that I have served you well. Continued resistance will be met with an increase in force, the basest strength of which you have already encountered. I pray you come to your senses._

*~*~*~*~*

By the time the Crier finished reading, Cas was fuming. He wanted to tear the announcement to pieces and throw it back in the King’s face. Unfortunately for him, that wouldn’t be possible. His closest option was to get to the fighting, and he turned on his heel and made his way back through the crowd, his companions close behind.

“You really gave Fitzgerald a run for his money,” Kevin said after a moment, trying to dispel the tension that seemed to have settled over them as soon as the Crier had started reading.

Cas just nodded, his mind already running five steps ahead of where they were now.

“What do you suppose the King meant when he said, ‘I have served you well?’” Charlie asked thoughtfully. “He has not been particularly fair to his Colonies.”

“He probably means we’re lucky he hasn’t starved us out yet,” Sam said sarcastically. “We’re nothing more than a means to an end with him.”

“He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Crowley said, his voice even and collected.

Cas turned to Crowley with a look that was somewhere between curious and annoyed. “You’re picking sides now?”

Crowley shrugged. “Singer’s been giving the Crown a run for their money so far. If he keeps it up, Lucifer doesn’t stand much of a chance.”

“The King referred to what we’ve seen so far as ‘the basest strength’ of what he has,” Kevin pointed out. “That could mean a lot for what’s coming.”

“Bobby knows what he’s doing,” Sam said, almost defensively, earning him a few curious looks.

“You know this for sure?” Charlie asked.

Sam nodded. “Bobby’s a friend of my dad’s. Or they know each other, I don’t know.” He shrugged, staring straight ahead without any expression on his face. “My dad’s a son of a bitch, but he knew strategy. He always spoke highly of Bobby.”

Cas considered what Sam said. He had heard of Bobby Singer when he was growing up and the Seven Years’ War was being fought in the Northwest Territory. From everything he had studied, Cas knew the kind of hardships Singer had faced in his battles; he had been soundly defeated several times before he began to genuinely understand strategy. Even without Sam’s endorsement, Cas would trust Bobby Singer’s judgment, but it was nice to know that someone Cas trusted was confident in the leadership that was waiting for them somewhere below, under the cover of musket fire.

*~*~*~*~*

Dean was sitting in the music room playing piano when Jo peeked around the doorframe.

“ _There_ you are,” she said, making her way to the bench and sitting down beside her brother. “Adam and I have been looking for you.”

“Well, you found me,” Dean said, offering her a slight smile. His hands never paused on the keys as he spoke. “What do you need?”

“I wanted to warn you before dinner,” Jo replied. She shifted in her seat and started playing Dean’s accompaniment, an octave higher. “The King issued a proclamation today.”

“He did? How do you know?” Dean asked, glancing over at Jo, his fingers fumbling in surprise for a moment.

“Donna had to go down to the market today. She said she heard the Crier reading it to a group downtown,” Jo answered, her voice carefully neutral. “She said it didn’t sound pleasant.”

“No, I wouldn’t think so,” Dean said thoughtfully. His eyes went back to the music in front of him, and they played without speaking for a few moments as they considered the news.

Adam wandered into the room a minute later. He pulled a chair over beside the bench so he could watch his siblings play, but Dean could tell he was putting off what he was going to say.

“Dad’s going to be home for dinner,” Adam finally said. The last notes of Dean and Jo’s song were dying in the air, and no one spoke until there was silence.

“He’s not going to be happy,” Jo said to the quiet room. “Not if what the King said is as bad as Donna thinks it is.”

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to be back for a week,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure if he was upset or angry that his father would be home so soon, but he was certain that he wasn’t happy with the news; the house was much more peaceful without any Alphas present.

“Apparently the fighting’s moving faster than they thought it would,” Adam said with a shrug. “He’s going to be here tonight before he has to move out with the rest of the troops.”

There was a heavy silence for a while, until Dean finally forced himself to take a deep breath to relax. “Mom will be happy to see him,” he said tiredly; it was his mantra – it allowed him to continue to behave around his father and put up with what he had to say instead of reacting the way Sam had, with far too much yelling and posturing.

“She will,” Jo agreed. As if on cue, the sound of hinges came from down the hall, and the Winchester siblings could hear their father announcing his presence. None of them made a move to greet him.

“Mom will be happy to see him,” Dean repeated to himself.

“Do you think he already knows about the King’s message?” Adam asked quietly. Adam was always quiet when their father was around.

“Probably,” Jo guessed. “The King hasn’t sent a message in years.”

The noise from down the hall died down, and the siblings relaxed in their seats. No footsteps coming to the music room.

Dean sighed to himself and went back to playing the piano – quieter this time. Neither Jo nor Adam made a move to join in this time, instead sitting quietly and listening. It was a routine that had started soon after Adam had presented; Dean would play to drown out the fights between Sam and their father, and Jo and Adam would listen to the music. Sometimes they would hum along, but tonight they were silent.

After two or three songs, the dinner bell rang out, the sound echoing through the halls.

“Ready?” Dean asked.

Jo didn’t respond, but Adam shook his head slowly. Dean put a hand on each of his siblings’ shoulders and squeezed gently before standing. Jo and Adam stood to follow, and they made their way to the dining room as a group.

The look John gave his children wasn’t as cold as Dean had been expecting, so he allowed his hopes for the rest of the evening to get a little higher. John was seated at the head of the table, with his mate and wife, Mary, on his right. Dean, as the oldest child, should have been seated on John’s other side, but that seat had gone to Jo when it had become clear that she was a Beta to Dean’s Omega. (It had been Sam’s seat for a while as well, until he left.) Instead, Dean sat beside Jo while Adam took the seat beside Mary. Sam’s absence from the table was not acknowledged.

Dinner started as Dean had expected it to – with John immediately diving into what was going on with the war. While Dean couldn’t say he didn’t care what was going on, death and fighting weren’t topics he wanted to discuss at the dinner table.

“We heard the King sent a message,” Dean finally said, when he couldn’t stand to listen to battle talk anymore. It was a risky move to speak without being addressed, but he had to change the subject.

John kept his composure, but his irritated scent gave him away. “He did.”

Dean did his best not to flinch at his father’s harsh tone.

“John,” Mary said, her voice and scent giving a clear warning. She might have only been a Beta, but she was the only one who could keep a handle on John, who took a deep breath and shook his head, as if to clear it.

 “What did it say?” Dean asked cautiously.

John was quiet a moment before he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and tossed it in Dean’s direction. “Read it yourself.”

The command surprised Dean, who had heard more than his fair share of attacks on his intelligence because of the fact that he was an Omega. He wasn’t sure what to make of his father’s actions. “Out loud?” Dean asked, unfolding the paper. The sheet was smudged with dirt and gunpowder, the words written in a hurried, scrawling hand that Dean didn’t recognize.

“Sure, out loud,” John ceded.

Dean took a deep breath. He could feel everyone’s eyes on him, and it made him nervous. Still, he managed to read through the whole thing without tripping over his words. He handed the sheet back to his father, avoiding eye contact.

“He thinks he can sweet-talk us into giving up,” John said. The irritation was back, but Dean took a bit of comfort in knowing that it wasn’t aimed at him this time.

“I thought it sounded more like a threat,” Jo said. Even when she knew she shouldn’t say anything, she was incapable of saying anything meekly. And when John turned a hard glare in her direction, she met it calmly and evenly.

“Of course it was a threat,” John said. “But not everyone will see it that way. We’ve already lost troops because of that announcement.”

‘Back to talking about the fighting,’ Dean thought. He waited a few minutes, until everyone had finished most of what was on their plates, before he excused himself with the excuse of a stomach ache.

Dean was quick to make his way to his room and change into his nightclothes, but he didn’t sleep. Instead, he sat at his window and looked out over Manhattan. It wasn’t the safest place to be, but the fighting was staying away and the troops were retreating in the direction of New Jersey.

Even with the occasional noise from the fighting, the evening was peaceful and pleasantly cool, the sun having just started to disappear below the horizon. Dean couldn’t help but think of Sam, down in the thick of the fighting. He wondered if Sam ever saw their father, and how it had turned out if they had crossed paths. John certainly never mentioned it if it did happen.

After about a half hour, there was a quiet knock on the door. Dean stood and crossed the room to open the door. He wasn’t sure who he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t his mother, still dressed in her clothes from the day. She held a teacup in her hand, and she smiled at Dean when the door opened.

“For your stomach,” she said, holding the tea out to her son.

It took Dean a moment to remember his excuse for leaving dinner, and he took the tea with a polite ‘thank you.’

“May I come in?” Mary asked.

Dean nodded and stepped aside, holding the door open for her. She made her way to the bed and sat at the edge, patting the spot beside her when Dean had closed the door. He sat where she indicated, taking a sip from his tea as he did so.

“I know you hate when he talks about the war,” Mary said without preamble.

Dean shifted in his seat. Of course she knew that his stomach wasn’t bothering him. “Sam’s down there somewhere,” he replied quietly, looking down at his teacup.

“I know,” Mary said, wrapping Dean in a hug. “I worry about him too.”

Dean leaned heavily against his mother, allowing himself to be comforted. His father was so adamant about not talking about Sam that sometimes Dean forgot that his mother was just as upset about Sam as he was.

“I wish he’d just come back,” Dean said. He hadn’t realized he was crying until he heard his own voice shake.

“I do too,” Mary said, rubbing her hand up and down Dean’s arm. “I’ve tried to have him home again, but he and your father are both too stubborn for their own good; they’re too similar.”

“Do you think he’ll ever come home?” Dean asked. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for her response.

Mary was silent for a moment before she answered. “I think that whenever this is over, he’ll be ready for his own family,” she said carefully. “He’ll have his own home. I don’t think he’ll come back here.”

Dean nodded. He wondered whether he’d have a family of his own whenever the war ended, but he quickly pushed the thoughts away; likely he wouldn’t have a say in the matter anyway.

“That doesn’t mean we won’t see him again,” Mary added.

“I know,” Dean said.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes before Mary stood and kissed the top of Dean’s head. “Drink the rest of your tea and get some rest,” she said gently. “It’ll help you feel better.”

“Thanks mom,” Dean said.

Mary offered a warm smile and squeezed Dean’s shoulder for just a second before she turned and let herself out.

Dean sipped the rest of his tea slowly, not finishing it until it had cooled off enough to be unpleasant.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> Right Hand Man

There was an ear-splitting _crack_ from just behind Castiel as a musket ball slammed into a tree. Cas managed to hide behind another trunk just as something else whizzed by, hitting another soldier in the shoulder and knocking him to the ground with a cry. The stench of blood was thick in the air, and every time Cas actually paid attention to it, he wanted to gag. Even so, he crouched down and made his way to the fallen soldier.

“I need a medic,” he shouted, though he wasn’t sure if anyone could hear him over the noise.

“Oh _fuck_ it hurts,” the fallen Beta groaned through gritted teeth. His left hand was clutching his wounded shoulder, and he was trying to roll to his left, as if that would help him escape. Tears made tracks in the dirt and grime on his face as blood seeped between his fingers. “Shit, make it stop.”

“I said I need a medic!” Cas yelled, almost growled. A bullet cracked into the same tree as before, this time taking a sizable chunk of bark away with it on the recoil.

Finally, two Alphas, a man and a woman, ran to where Cas was crouched, a makeshift stretcher between them. The war had been raging for a little over two years, and the fighting had been almost nonstop for the past two weeks – more and more troops continued to arrive from the King. Cas didn’t know the official number, but he knew it was several thousand. The war had not been kind to the Colonies’ troops, but the past two weeks had been especially brutal, with more casualties and desertions than they’d seen in a long time. The medics had to work nonstop to try to keep everyone alive, often taking injuries themselves in the process.

The Beta soldier swore colorfully as the medics transferred him to the stretcher. He was sobbing by the time he was carried away, still grabbing at his wounded arm.

Cas watched them leave for just a moment before he had to continue moving. He ran along the tree line, keeping an eye out for a way to break up the mess they were in. He was quick to press his back to a tree and peek around it slowly, taking aim for a second and a half before he turned, leveled his rifle, and fired. The enemy was already wearing red, but Cas could see the bright jacket staining darker just before the soldier fell to the ground.

If there were any advantages that the Colonies had, it was the fact that they knew, and were used to, working on varied terrain; their enemies were trained for open plain battle, not fighting within forests. And their uniforms were not made to blend in with the foliage.

“Nice shot.”

Cas turned to find Sam towering over him. “They’re easy targets.”

Sam shrugged, his rifle already leveled and firing. “We should move.”

Cas didn’t take time to acknowledge the statement; instead, he continued his jog along the tree line, reloading as he went. He glanced over at Sam as they ducked among the trees. “That new?” he asked, nodding toward Sam’s arm.

Sam glanced down at the bandages on his forearm that definitely were not as clean as they should have been. “Got it yesterday,” he said, pausing to fire again. “Someone got in a lucky shot and grazed me. I’ll live.”

Cas eyed the bandages for just a moment before he turned his attention back to the trail. He’d seen several soldiers taken down by what should have been minor wounds; they weren’t getting enough food out on the battlefield, and infection set in quickly when the body didn’t have the energy to fight it. He let it go for the time being, and he and Sam continued on their route in the trees, passing other soldiers and dodging gun- and cannon fire.

“Get out of the way!” someone shouted.

It was an order everyone had learned very quickly to obey, and every soldier in the vicinity was immediately behind a tree or in a ditch or behind some kind of fortification. A cannon ball crashed into the ground twenty feet behind where Cas and Sam were crouching, sending dirt and debris flying in a hundred different directions. Cas shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears, and he noticed Sam scrubbing the dirt from his eyes. And just over Sam’s shoulder, he noticed a redheaded soldier on the ground, lying still. A quick sniff of the air confirmed the soldier was an Alpha, and female.

“Charlie?” Cas shouted, causing Sam to jerk his head around to try to find where Cas was looking. Panic seized Cas’ heart, and he was on his feet in a second, stumbling over himself as he ran to the soldier’s side, Sam close on his heels.

The soldier was on her back, her torso at an odd angle. Her hair had come out of its pins and made a wild halo around her scalp. There was blood on her face and her shirt, and her rifle was still clutched in her lifeless hand.

Cas fell to his knees beside the fallen woman, and let out a sigh of relief when he noticed the soldier was too small to be Charlie, and then he was instantly horrified with himself for finding relief in the death of another. “Have you seen Charlie recently?” he asked, his voice stiff. “Or Kevin?”

“A few hours ago,” Sam replied. He tugged at his bandages uncomfortably.

“What about Crowley?”

“Not since breakfast yesterday.”

Cas knelt beside the fallen soldier and gently closed her eyes. He wanted to say something, but he found he couldn’t even remember her name. His hand hesitated over her face before it fell to his side again. He remained there, silent in the cacophony around him, until there was another shout to get moving, and he and Sam darted further into the trees, away from the front.

It wasn’t long before there were more soldiers around them. There were hastily set up tents – some of which were little more than old blankets folded once over a makeshift frame – and groups of exhausted soldiers sitting around dead fires. A few shots still managed to get through back here, but they were few and far between, and any soldier who was managing to get even a little bit of shut-eye was too bone-tired to care whether they woke up or not.

Sam was quick to collapse against the frame of his tent, his gun forgotten almost instantly on the ground beside him. He’d been so hopped-up on adrenaline with the gunfire all around him that he hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was.

On the other hand, Cas kept his rifle slung over his shoulder as he paced back and forth, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Cas, what the hell?” Sam asked, his voice worn out. His eyes had already closed of their own accord, but he could hear Cas striding back and forth, back and forth.

“We have to get those canons away from them,” Cas muttered, half to Sam, half to himself. He’d seen far too many of his comrades crushed and broken by cannon balls, and not enough of the enemy.

“Sure, you let me know when you figure out how to do that,” Sam said skeptically. He was asleep only moments later.

*~*~*~*~*

Bobby Singer sat in his tent, studying his map. If the information he had was correct, and he had confidence it was, there would be more British troops arriving in the harbor over the next two days, and he’d be outnumbered by far more than he cared to even calculate. He tried not to let it bother him, but he knew the other side was coming in with more firepower than he had, used by more troops than he had, with more military experience than he had at his disposal. He and his troops were going to need to go all out and then some to be able to match what their enemies had without even trying. And he wouldn’t be able to get it done on his own.

“Knock knock,” came a voice at the door. The owner of said voice didn’t bother to wait for a reply before she entered.

“If it ain’t good news, I don’t want to hear it,” Bobby said, running a hand through his hair without looking up.

“A letter from your mate,” Jody said, tossing the envelope onto the map. She was Bobby’s chief aide-de-camp, an Alpha with a short haircut and little tolerance for dawdling, though she was careful to avoid over-drawing from her resources.

Bobby sighed and pocketed the letter, making a mental note to read it and write a response that evening. “Thank you,” he said. “Anything else?”

“I thought you didn’t want to hear bad news,” Jody said dryly.

Bobby gave her a tired look. “I guess I’ve heard enough bad news that a little more wouldn’t hurt.”

Jody nodded and pulled a sheet of paper from her coat pocket. She handed it over carefully without unfolding it. “Those are the names of the officers in command of the troops in the harbor, which, according to my sources, are more than thirty thousand strong. We’ve lost more troops to desertion, and the number of wounded–”

“Stop,” Bobby said. He remembered the last time he’d been so outnumbered, about twenty years before against the French; it hadn’t ended well, though others tended to forget his misgivings at the beginning of that war in favor of remembering how he’d won later on. “That’s enough. Thank you.”

Jody saluted and exited the tent, immediately melting into the crowded camp.

Bobby unfolded the sheet Jody had given him and studied the names. He’d fought alongside and served under a few of them when he’d first started his military career, and he jotted down a few notes on what he remembered of their tactics before going back to the other letters he’d received earlier that morning. He made notes on his map to indicate that Brooklyn and the Harbor were now under British command. There wasn’t much left in New York City for Bobby to defend, and with Jody’s information on the number of troops Bobby still had, there wasn’t much choice in what to do.

He sighed and started packing up his makeshift desk, calling for one of his officers.

“Yes sir?” the officer asked, saluting and standing at attention.

“Call for a retreat of our troops here,” Bobby said. “We need to get further southwest. Those who had orders to head east should continue to follow through.”

The officer saluted again and ducked out of the tent, barking out orders. The drums picked up almost immediately, and the camp was filled with shouts and the sounds of tents being torn down. It wouldn’t be long before they were moving out, if everything went smoothly.

Several aides materialized from the crowded camp and started tearing down Bobby’s tent and collecting his information. Bobby thanked them before he ducked out of the tent.

“General Singer, sir,” Jody said, jogging up to him with an arm out as if to catch him. It wasn’t often that she addressed him formally, but when they were among the troops, she made sure to use his title. “New information from the front.”

“Unless we have a sudden wave of volunteers, I don’t think it’s going to help us, Mills,” Bobby replied, making his way to where his horse was waiting for him.

“A group of soldiers – _our_ soldiers – have broken past enemy lines.”

“What?” Bobby demanded, turning so quickly his horse threw his head in the air.

“A small group, not even a hundred soldiers, led by Castiel Novak has managed to get through enemy defenses,” Jody recited, as if she’d rehearsed it since she learned the information.

“What _exactly_ are they trying to do?” Bobby asked, his hands tightening into fists around his reins. “End the war themselves?”

“They think they have a way to neutralize the enemy’s cannons,” Jody said. “I heard some say they think it’s a suicide mission.”

*~*~*~*~*

It wasn’t easy to find a group willing to go through with Cas’ plan. As soon as he told Sam, Sam had looked at him like he had a second head, but had ultimately agreed to participate. They’d found Charlie later that evening, and Kevin the following morning; both didn’t look too worse for wear, though Kevin had a slight limp and Charlie had a nasty cut on her right cheekbone.

The next few days had been spent getting together as many soldiers who were willing to make a break for it as they could. Most soldiers weren’t thrilled with the idea of being _closer_ to the people shooting at them, but a few were just gung-ho enough to think the idea might work.

Keeping the group together long enough to make their move proved more difficult, as orders soon came in to split the troops into separate squadrons that would flank the enemy’s troops and come at them from several angles at once; it was a risky move, considering how outnumbered and overpowered the Colonies were, but there wasn’t any better chance in a head-on assault.

At dawn the day the troops were to split up, Cas quietly led his group of soldiers to the edge of the battle. He kept a vigilant eye out, but the focus of the fighting was still off to their left, and no one seemed to have noticed them yet.

“No shooting,” Cas hissed to those behind him. “Keep your heads down.” He could hear the message being passed down the line as he scanned the landscape for the easiest route to where the cannons had been moved. So far no one was shooting at them, but that could change at any second.

“Down there,” Charlie said, inching up beside Cas and pointing just northeast of them; hidden behind a well-fortified encampment was a small park to which the cannons had been moved only a day or so before (presumably so they could be transported to a new location). Smoke was curling lazily from fires in the camp, and in the eerie quiet of the early morning, Cas could already hear voices drifting up to them.

“We could split up,” Kevin suggested from not far behind. “It’s what the General’s having our troops do. To try to force their troops into dividing.”

Cas shook his head. “There are too many of them, even just in the camp. And their camp backs up to the river; there’s no way to get behind them.”

They walked in silence a few moments longer, until they were forced to stop when they reached the end of their cover.

“We’re officially behind enemy lines,” Sam pointed out, causing a murmur and an uneasy rustling to go up from the soldiers behind them.

Cas thought for a moment, surveying the land around them. Their only advantage was that the enemy had no idea what they were planning. Any minute now, the fighting would start back up (and in fact, the first few shots of the morning rang out somewhere to the group’s left) and then there would be chaos. Chaos would provide good cover, but it was never good to try to remain in a group, especially one of about eighty people, when there were shots being fired all around and one wasn’t a part of the same team as the people with all the firepower.

“I hope you have experience shooting over distance,” Cas finally said. More and more shots were being fired as the battle picked back up. “Aim into their ranks as far away as you can, and then follow me.”

Cas and the first few in the group leveled their rifles at the furthest officer they could see and fired. A few went down, but with all the noise of the battle, none of the other soldiers could tell where the shots had come from. Cas quickly started across the field, staying as hidden as he was able with his comrades on his tail.

They progressed quickly through the morning, picking off enemy soldiers where they could. The group lost a few, but without proper uniforms, they were hard to spot in the mixture of morning mist and gun smoke; it seemed second-hand rags and homemade clothing were better camouflage than bright red uniform coats.

It wasn’t far to the camp, and Cas led a charge through it toward the cannons, guns blazing. It was clear the soldiers who were still in the camp were not prepared for any kind of assault – several ran startled from their tents only half dressed – and Cas and his troops were able to start dragging the cannons back in the direction they’d come with very little resistance, several of them picking up discarded guns as they passed.

The cannons were heavy, and it took every person they had left to make sure those pulling the cannons were covered from enemy fire. It was slow going, and half of the original group had fallen by the time they returned to the relative safety of their own lines, which had already begun to thin as the troops were divided and sent in different directions.

Cas was panting by the time someone took the cannon from him and dragged it to a usable position. He turned and ran toward the end of his line, his pistol raised in defense of those who were still making their way back to safety, his rifle slung over his back, now empty and useless until Cas could find more ammunition.

“Remind me next time to pack more bullets,” Kevin panted, limping up behind Cas with his rifle aimed at the sea of red ahead of them. “I’m on my last few.”

“Hopefully there won’t be a next time,” Cas said, his breathing finally evening out. “How’s your leg?”

“Attached,” Kevin replied. “Just a twisted ankle. I’ll live.” Even as he said it, he could feel throbbing in the joint from all the running the morning had afforded him.

Charlie joined them a moment later, and the three of them stood firing on the redcoats as long as they could before they needed to run back for more ammo. Sam joined them not long after, an almost manic look in his eye as they ran back to what was left of their camp.

*~*~*~*~*

It had been two weeks since they’d left New York, and he’d set up shop in a house in New Jersey that had been abandoned by the owners when the war had come too close. Maybe they’d be back after the mess was over, but until then, Bobby was going to use it to house himself and his officers.

Bobby was sitting at his desk when a knock sounded at the door. He didn’t bother to look up when he granted permission to enter, incorrectly thinking he knew who it was. When he looked up, however, he didn’t recognize the man standing in front of him. “Who are you?” he asked, so caught off guard he forgot he probably should have been more polite to his guest.

“My name is Fergus MacLeod,” the man said, thinly veiled disgust coming through in his voice at the sound of his own name. “Crowley, sir. Permission to state my case?”

Bobby studied Crowley for a moment before he nodded. “Permission granted.”

“Sir, I was a Captain under General Montgomery until he caught a bullet in Quebec,” Crowley explained.

“I knew Montgomery,” Bobby said with a nod. “A good man. Shame to see him go.”

“Of course, sir,” Crowley said. “And I would like to offer my assistance, using the experience I gained from my time serving under Montgomery.”

Bobby narrowed his eyes at Crowley, sizing him up.

“I do have some questions,” Crowley added. “I admire your tactics, but I also have a few suggestions for fighting instead of fleeing west.”

Bobby could feel whatever consideration he might have given Crowley immediately disappear; this man didn’t know the half of what was really going on, and he presumed to have the answers. “Is that so?”

“Well–”

“General Singer,” Cas interrupted from the door, not seeming to notice that he had cut off whatever it was that Crowley had been about to say. “You asked to see me?”

“Novak, come in,” Bobby said, gesturing for Cas to enter. “Have you met Crowley?” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Yes sir,” Cas said. He gave the impression he had only just realized Crowley was even standing there.

“We have the pleasure of meeting quite often,” Crowley said, glaring at Cas. “As I was saying,” he continued, “I look forward to seeing your strategy play out.”

“Crowley?” Bobby said.

“Sir?”

“Close the door on your way out,” Bobby said, jerking his chin in the direction of the door.

Crowley managed to hide his surprise and raised a brow at Cas, who gave him a puzzled look.

“Have I done something wrong?” Cas asked when Crowley had left and the door had clicked shut.

Bobby shook his head, gesturing for Cas to have a seat across from him. “I called you here because our odds aren’t looking good,” he began. “Your reputation precedes you, and I can’t help but wonder how no one can get you on their staff.”

“Sir?” Cas asked, caught off guard by the General’s praise.

“Oh don’t get me wrong, you have earned your distinction. I know about your stealing the cannons when we were still downtown,” Bobby said, leaning back in his seat. “I know of at least three other officers who have tried to hire you.”

“As a secretary,” Cas pointed out. He could feel his annoyance start to bubble. “I am a soldier.”

Bobby was quiet a moment, just studying Cas. “Why are you upset?” he asked.

Cas blinked in surprise. “I’m not?”

Bobby shook his head, dismissing the denial. “It’s alright to want to fight. I was just like that when I was younger,” he said. He remembered that time fondly – the time before he’d had to grow up with the aftereffects of war. “Do you dream of dying out there?”

“Sometimes,” Cas admitted.

“Dying is easy,” Bobby said, almost to himself. “Living is harder.”

Cas was quiet, considering, for a minute, trying to piece together where this could be going. “Why tell me this?”

“I’m being honest,” Bobby said. “I’m working with less than half of what I’ve been promised. We’re on the brink of implosion, and I need someone like you to lighten the load that’s been dumped on me.”

Cas thought about how much he’d fought in the past two years, and how little it had seemed to accomplish in the grand scheme of things. The closest he’d gotten to actually realizing something had been when he’d led the mission to retrieve the cannons. But working under _General Singer_ – that would give him an opportunity he wouldn’t get otherwise. “What would you have me be?”

“An aide-de-camp. You’d be gathering information, organizing correspondence,” Bobby said.

Cas felt his heart sink slightly. He wanted to be out fighting, but he knew he could prove himself quickly and return to the battlefield. “Okay,” he finally said.

Bobby nodded, as if he had known all along that Cas would accept his proposal; maybe he had. “What would you suggest, in our present situation?” he asked.

“We’ll need as much help as we can get,” Cas replied, his mind already working four steps ahead. He would get Sam and Kevin and Charlie involved – people he could trust to get him what he needed. “You’ll need spies as well. Maybe a few of the King’s men who might loosen their tongues. I can write to Congress, talk them into sending supplies.”

“Congress is not being free with the supplies they give out,” Bobby said skeptically.

“I’ll worry about that,” Cas said. He remembered back when he traded on the Caribbean so many years ago; the only way to truly get what was needed was to exaggerate your need for it. “We need to rally the troops,” he added, so quickly that he could see the General concentrating to follow his train of thought. “And we need surprise on our side.”

“Castiel,” Bobby said, effectively stopping Cas’ rambling. “I’m glad you’re on board, but there are steps we need to worry about first.”

Cas leaned over the desk as Bobby started pointing out areas on the map that indicated the locations of enemy troops and reinforcements for both sides. Bobby handed over a few letters he had received over the past months so Cas could familiarize himself with the names of the various officers of both sides and where they were currently holding their troops and their various styles of attack. Cas was eager to absorb all the information, and while half his brain worked on memorization, the other half was already drafting a letter to Congress.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> A Winter's Ball  
> Helpless  
> Satisfied  
> The Story of Tonight (Reprise)

**1780**

Cas learned his job quickly, though the similarity to the job he had had as a clerk grated on his nerves. He enjoyed working with Jody, and he admired how quickly and efficiently she could move from one task to the next. And while she was always fair, she asked a lot of the aides who worked with her, which meant Cas saw a lot of late nights and early mornings. His silver lining was the fact that Charlie, Sam, and Kevin were working with him, though he knew of other plans the General was putting together to get them back to the fighting.

The British had been driving them further and further back, and it seemed that no matter how many lucky hits the colonial forces were able to get in, their attackers’ numbers never dwindled.

Morale was understandably low when 1780 was rung in to the tune of heavy snowfall and acute frostbite. Though there wasn’t much time to take off, Bobby made it a point to plan a ball for his officers and his most trusted aides, although he wished his soldiers could afford to have a night off as well.

Cas was never quite sure what to wear to an event like this, having grown up without the means to attend one. Kevin helped him find something suitable that didn’t look entirely like it had been dragged along in the middle of a war.

They stayed late on the battlefield, until most of the shots had stopped and the only gunfire came intermittently. When most of the soldiers were bunking down for the night, Cas, Sam, Kevin, and Charlie finally began the trek to the address they had been given as the location of the ball.

Inside, the place was brightly lit with more candles than Cas thought he had ever seen in one location. It was stuffy and almost hot with so many people in their finery, and a small band even played in one corner while people danced and laughed on the dance floor in front of the musicians. Cas was convinced that it wouldn’t take long for him to forget that there was even a war going on.

The group made their way over to the bar, and lasted there for varying amounts of time. Sam didn’t even get to finish his order before he recognized someone and practically ran through the crowd to get to them. Kevin sat for a few minutes before someone caught his eye and he got up to join them for a dance.

“Will you be dancing tonight?” Charlie asked, taking a sip of her drink.

Cas shrugged. “I suppose if I find someone to dance with,” he replied. He felt out of place among the finery, and for the moment he was content just to have a drink and watch what the others did. “What about you?”

“We will see,” she said. “Events like these, whatever their intentions, tend to turn into opportunities to form family alliances through marriages. I have a mate back home, so you see why I might not be so quick to get in the middle of those alliances.”

Cas tilted his head curiously and sniffed the air, looking for something he might have overlooked before. He needn’t have worried about his powers of observation; it still wasn’t there. “You don’t smell mated,” he said.

Charlie shook her head. “It is arranged. We are to be mated when I return home – hopefully sooner rather than later,” she said with a dreamy smile.

Cas wasn’t sure what to say or do to convey his sympathies, but he was saved from having to respond by Crowley’s appearance at the bar.

“The Winchesters are here,” Crowley said without preamble, waving at the bartender for a drink.

“Where?” Cas asked, scanning the crowd. He never thought he’d have trouble picking Sam out of a group, but there was so much going on that he was having trouble focusing on anyone specific.

“Back corner,” Crowley said, jerking his head in that direction.

When Cas couldn’t make heads nor tails of who he was looking for, he decided to take Crowley’s word for it. “Are the Winchesters so bad that you need a drink after noticing their presence?” He’d heard bits and pieces of the family from Sam over the years, but he’d never had to opportunity to meet any of them.

“Some of them,” was all Crowley said in response.

*~*~*~*~*

Dean hadn’t been too keen on attending a ball, but his mother had insisted that they needed to get out of the house. They had been Upstate for the past three years or so at the family estate, staying away from the majority of the fighting. None of them had seen John in almost two years, though Dean was prepared to count that as a pro and not a con.

It didn’t take long to find John after they arrived, and Dean had to admit that his father looked older, more tired, than he had the last time they’d seen each other. Outward appearances, however, seemed to be the only part of John that had changed; he was still cold to Dean and Adam, though they were both old enough that they’d begun to worry about whether their father had plans to marry them off and to whom, and Jo still received a lukewarm welcome.

Dean was surprised to see Sam bounding over to them, considering John was still at the table. But that didn’t seem to matter; after all, Sam hadn’t seen his family in almost five years.

Since Dean was the first to notice Sam, he was the first to stand to greet him, though any greeting he might have given got stuck in his throat on the way out as Sam crushed him into a bear hug.

Sam was taller and more filled out than Dean remembered, and his hair was longer and neater, pulled back in a low ponytail. He was stronger, too, if the ache from his hug was anything to go by.

When Sam finally let Dean go, Dean had to wipe his eyes before he made a scene in front of his father. Dean wasn’t surprised in the least that Sam hugged his siblings and their mother, but he _was_ surprised when Sam shook John’s hand without also snapping at him.

Despite the warm welcome, conversation was tense for a few minutes, until John and Mary excused themselves to dance.

“Life hasn’t been too hard, has it?” Sam asked as soon as John was out of earshot. Dean didn’t think he’d ever heard Sam sound so serious.

“Dad hasn’t been home much,” Jo replied. “He’s the only one who makes it difficult, so we’ve been fine without him there.”

Sam relaxed into his seat. “As long as everyone’s okay,” he said.

They talked idly for a few minutes, until Adam asked if Sam had come with anyone, which made Sam laugh.

“Just the other aides,” Sam said, nodding toward the bar on the other side of the room. Cas and Charlie were still there, as was Crowley. Sam wasn’t sure where Kevin had run off to, but he wasn’t going to worry too much about it. “You’ve met Charlene – Charlie – once before, I think, but the one beside her is Castiel Novak.”

Dean had to lean slightly to one side to be able to see who was sitting at the bar, and when he did, he saw Castiel looking around the room. He tried to keep himself from staring, but the subject of his gaze was making that difficult. Castiel was tall and well muscled and fit from the war, and his dark hair stuck in several different directions in a way that didn’t look quite as unkempt as one would think. There was something oddly magnetic about the man’s presence. “Castiel?” Dean asked, hoping his voice still sounded neutral.

Sam laughed, though Dean supposed he couldn’t blame him. “Yeah, Castiel,” Sam said. “He’s your age, from the Caribbean. Bobby won’t admit it, but I think he’s his favorite.”

Dean watched Castiel for another moment before he turned his attention back on his brother. “Alpha?” he asked. When Sam nodded, he tried not to let it show that he was disappointed; Alphas in military service tended to hold the same views of Omegas that John did. (Dean had learned that the hard way.)

“He’s a good guy,” Sam said quickly. Even in his years away from his family, he hadn’t lost his ability to read exactly what Dean was thinking. “He and I have been working together, writing.”

Dean considered that information, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up for nothing. He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m going to go talk to him,” Jo said. She wasn’t interested in the politics of these events, but she was willing to get a read on this Castiel, if it would make Dean feel better. She stood from her seat and made her way over to the bar, ignoring any attention the other patrons wanted to give her.

When she was close enough, she greeted Charlie and Castiel, ignoring Crowley. The look on Crowley’s face when she spoke made the entire night worth it. “Joanna-Beth Winchester,” Jo introduced herself, extending a hand toward Castiel. “You may call me Jo. I believe you’ve met my brother.”

“Castiel Novak,” Castiel replied with a nod, taking Jo’s hand in his and raising it to his lips, kissing it politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“And I you,” Jo replied. “Would you care to dance?” She could smell Castiel’s confusion at how direct she was being, but the look on his face was more impressed, appreciative, that she would have expected.

“It would be an honor,” Castiel replied, offering his arm.

Jo had to stifle a laugh at the incredulous look on Crowley’s face. She glanced in the direction of her brothers, and she could see Dean watching them, though he was trying to be discreet about it. She offered him a smile before she turned to Castiel for their dance.

Everything about Castiel was polite; he stepped carefully and kept his hands light on her body to support her without her feeling like he was being possessive. Jo decided she liked him.

Castiel cleared his throat, pulling Jo’s attention back to him. “You strike me as an intelligent woman,” he said conversationally. “One who has never been satisfied.”

Jo almost physically recoiled, and her annoyed scent was so strong she could almost smell it on herself. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said, trying to keep her voice slightly warmer than frigid. “You forget yourself.”

Castiel shook his head. “My apologies. I mean you strike me as a woman who is never satisfied with what she learns,” he corrected. “I didn’t mean to insinuate otherwise.”

Jo studied Castiel for a moment, but he seemed genuine. He was watching her face curiously, but it was a look one gave a companion during a discussion, not a look one gave a woman they were planning to marry for personal gain. “I suppose you have experience with that?” Jo inquired.

One corner of Castiel’s mouth quirked up. “I myself have never been satisfied,” he said.

Jo couldn’t help but laugh, and she could clearly imagine what her father would say if he knew she was laughing at such a joke. “So Castiel,” she started.

“Please, Cas,” he replied.

“Okay, Cas,” Jo amended. “Where’s your family from?”

Cas shook his head. “Unimportant.”

Jo furrowed her brow. “I don’t think so,” she pressed.

“It isn’t important,” Cas said. His voice was still carefully neutral, but it was clear he wasn’t going to budge on the subject.

Jo sighed, but nodded. “Unimportant,” she said, changing the subject.

They spoke through two dances, and the more they talked, the more Jo liked Cas. And while she didn’t think she’d ever really be interested in a political match, or a match of any kind really, she knew she could do considerably worse than Cas. But then she caught sight of Dean sitting with Sam and Adam. While the three of them seemed to be in the middle of a conversation, Dean kept stealing glances to watch Jo and Cas dance throughout the conversation. Dean looked so helpless to stop himself that Jo couldn’t help but chuckle at him.

Jo turned her attention back to Cas as they drifted to a stop on the last few notes of the song. “Come with me,” she said, stepping back and holding out her hand.

Cas gave her a curious look, but offered her his arm nonetheless. “Where are you taking me?”

Jo just smirked at him. “I’m about to change your life.”

“Then by all means, lead the way,” Cas said with a laugh. He followed obediently through the maze of tables. He would have been surprised at the purpose in Jo’s step if he hadn’t just spent ten minutes in conversation with her.

When they reached the Winchester table, the brothers stood to greet the newcomers.

“Everyone, this is Castiel Novak,” Jo said, her tone slipping into something more formal. “Castiel, you already know Sam.”

“Yes I do,” Cas replied, mirroring Jo’s formal tone. “Though he ran off when our group arrived and I had not seen him since.”

“When you spot your mother across the room for the first time in several years, I will not hold it against you when you run to greet her,” Sam joked, mimicking everyone’s suddenly clipped speech.

Cas’ jaw tightened imperceptibly for just a moment; as far as he knew, the only one who knew about his parents was Crowley. “If I see my mother across the room, I don’t know what I’ll do,” Cas agreed, his tone only slightly stiffer than it had been a moment before. He didn’t think anyone noticed.

“This is our youngest brother, Adam,” Jo said, gesturing to her brother.

Adam was standing on Sam’s other side and Cas offered him a polite smile and held out a hand in Adam’s direction. Cas was almost surprised to notice that Adam was an Omega, as couples didn’t often have children of all three secondary sexes, and seeing as Sam and Jo were an Alpha and a Beta, Cas had, incorrectly, assumed that those would be the secondary sexes their siblings would have.

“It’s nice to meet you Adam,” Cas said.

“And this is our oldest brother, Dean,” Jo said, finally releasing her grip on Cas’ arm.

Dean ducked his head once in greeting. “Thank you, for all your service,” he said politely. It was his standard greeting to soldiers he met at events like this one. He extended his hand almost shyly in Cas’ direction.

Cas blinked at Dean for just a moment, taking in the tall Omega before him. Dean was standing in such a way as to make himself look smaller, but Cas thought Dean might just barely be taller than he was, which didn’t bother him as much as it bothered some other people he knew. And even though Dean was being shy in introducing himself, Cas could see a resolve hiding behind bright green eyes, a kind of energy he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

After a beat had passed in silence, he seemed to catch on that he was taking too much time to answer. “If it takes fighting a war for us to meet,” he said, taking Dean’s hand in his, “it will have been worth it.” He bent down to kiss the back of Dean’s hand, keeping his eyes on Dean’s the whole time.

[ ](http://fem-castielnovak.tumblr.com/)

Dean tried not to look too flustered, despite the fact that his cheeks were burning. Alphas never lowered themselves to anyone but other Alphas, but here Cas was, practically _bowing_ in front of him with Dean’s hand to his lips, instead of raising Dean’s hand as he had done with Jo’s. Dean glanced at his siblings, but the only one who was looking at him was Adam, who was staring wide-eyed.

“Would you like to dance?” Cas asked, straightening up. He hadn’t yet released Dean’s hand.

“I- Um, yes, sir. I would like to dance,” Dean managed. He’d never been asked if he wanted to dance before; usually at events like this he was told who he was going to dance with, and he was expected to dance. He took Cas’ arm when it was offered, and allowed himself to be led to the dance floor.

“You can call me Cas,” Cas said as they walked.

“Cas.” Dean tried the name on for size. The only Alpha he referred to by name was Sam, and that was only because they were brothers. Omegas didn’t usually have the privilege of being so familiar with Alphas.

The musicians struck up a waltz, and Cas started leading Dean through the dance. Dean knew if he stood up straighter he’d be taller than Cas, and the thought made him self-conscious. He’d taken enough shit about being tall for an Omega, and he really wanted to avoid hearing that from Cas. So he held himself smaller, as he usually did, avoiding eye contact.

“Are you uncomfortable?” Cas asked after a moment.

“No,” Dean said quickly. He felt Cas’ grip on him loosen marginally, though he didn’t let go or stop the dance.

“Are you sure?” Cas sounded concerned now, and his head was tilted to the side while he studied Dean’s face.

“I’m sure,” Dean said. “Just… I’m not used to this.”

“Dancing with a man?” Cas asked.

Dean laughed, though it was more a release of tension than a show of humor. “No, I have,” he said. “Lots of them. And others. Just… Lots of people.” He clenched his jaw tight, trying to stop any more words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“I see,” Cas said. He wore a small smile, and he didn’t press the issue any further. “You dance very well.”

Dean ducked his head. “Thank you,” he said. He swallowed thickly and tried to make conversation. “You… You aren’t so bad yourself.”

“It helps that I have a good partner,” Cas countered with a shrug.

Dean laughed again. He wasn’t sure how to handle so much praise, but he was glad Cas was treating him so kindly. His good mood immediately deflated, however, when he caught sight of someone else making his way over.

Cas felt Dean stiffen and shrink in his arms, and he immediately went on the defensive, glancing around for what Dean had seen.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Cas paused in their dance and turned toward the voice to find Gordon Walker standing beside them. He knew of Gordon by name only, but it wasn’t a kind name; Colonel Walker was ruthless on a mission, and from the way Dean’s light mood had evaporated, it seemed he wasn’t kind to Omegas either.

“I do mind,” Cas said. He made no move to drop his arms from around Dean, and even tightened his grip on his dance partner when Gordon stepped forward as if to challenge that decision. “We are in the middle of a dance, and you may not cut in,” Cas said, almost forcefully.

Gordon stood another beat, as if waiting to see if it was a ruse, before he walked back in the direction from which he’d come, grumbling as he went, his distinctly annoyed scent making those around him step out of his way.

“Thank you,” Dean said quietly, his relief plainly obvious.

“Gordon is a snake,” Cas said simply as he resumed the dance. “I wouldn’t leave you alone with him.”

Dean was silent for the rest of the song, but he made no move to leave when Cas drifted to a halt. “Can we dance the next one too?” he asked uncertainly. He told himself it was so that he wouldn’t have to risk dancing with anyone like Gordon, but he knew it was because he just wanted to continue dancing with Cas.

Cas smiled and nodded. When the next song started up, he shifted his feet to get in position for the new style and stepped off.

“Tell me about yourself Dean,” Cas requested after a few seconds.

“Myself?” Dean asked, caught off guard by the request.

“Yes, yourself. What you like to do, that kind of thing,” Cas said patiently.

Dean had to think for a moment to organize his thoughts, but he was glad to be able to talk about himself for once. Often he listened to others talk about themselves.

They were interrupted a few times by others wanting to dance with Dean, but Cas refused each time.

“You’re hogging him,” someone complained at one point.

Cas shook his head. “I’m enjoying his company,” he corrected. Still, when they had stepped away from that person, he lowered his voice and asked, “Would you prefer if I left you to dance with someone else?”

“No,” Dean said. His grip tightened on Cas’ arm before he could stop himself. He relaxed his grip and averted his gaze. “I want to dance with you,” he said, so quietly he almost couldn’t hear himself. He liked Cas. He didn’t want to be shuffled around as he had been before. He liked being treated like a person.

“I will dance with you as long as you want me to,” Cas said. And when Dean glanced up to look him in the eye, Cas offered him a small smile.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they’d been dancing when his legs began to feel sore. “I need to sit down,” he said plainly. In their bubble, he felt closer to comfortable than he had in years. He was still on the lookout for any negative reactions from Cas, but so far Cas didn’t seem to mind when Dean felt the need to bring something up.

Cas drifted to a halt at the edge of the dance floor and offered Dean his arm for the walk back to the Winchester table. Dean gratefully took it, and even allowed himself to use Cas for support a few times during their short walk; Cas didn’t seem to mind.

When they returned to the table, John had returned, and he stood to greet Cas and Dean. Dean immediately lowered his eyes, and Cas started to draw himself up before he remembered that he didn’t really have an excuse to challenge John over Dean’s reaction.

“You must be John Winchester,” Cas said when they stopped at the table. Dean released his arm and sat in his chair between Jo and Adam, glancing between Cas and his father with rounded shoulders. “I apologize for keeping your son away so long; it was not my intention.”

“It’s quite alright,” John said, looking down at Dean for half a second before returning his gaze to Cas. “And you are?”

“My apologies,” Cas said, extending his hand to John. “My name is Castiel Novak. I work as an aide-de-camp for General Robert Singer.”

“He speaks highly of you,” John said, taking Cas’ hand firmly in his.

“I’m flattered,” Cas said, withdrawing his hand.

“This is my wife, Mary,” John continued, placing a hand on his mate’s shoulder.

Cas inclined his head politely. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

“I assume you’ve met my children,” John guessed.

Cas nodded. “Yes sir, I have.”

“Won’t you join us for a bit, Castiel?” Mary asked.

Cas considered for a moment. It was late, and Jody would have his head if he wasn’t up on time. But he made the mistake of glancing down at Dean for a split second. “I suppose I can stay for an hour or so,” Cas replied. He took the chair between Adam and John when John gestured for him to sit.

They spoke for about forty-five minutes, mainly about the war. As the only two Alphas at the table (Sam had left sometime before Cas and Dean had returned), Cas and John drove much of the conversation. Cas would have preferred if everyone would participate, but since it was John’s table, he wasn’t at liberty to make those decisions.

Much to Cas’ surprise, it was John who ended their conversation. “The war won’t wait on us to start,” he said.

“No, I suppose it won’t,” Cas replied. He stood to leave, inclining his head toward Dean and Jo first. “Thank you for dancing with me,” he said. Dean and Jo both nodded their responses. Cas turned back to John then, and lowered his head respectfully. “Thank you for allowing me to intrude upon your evening. Hopefully this will not be the last time we cross paths.”

When Cas finally returned to camp and crawled into the tent he shared with Sam, he heard Sam chuckle under his breath. “Late night?” he asked.

“Why are you still awake?” Cas retorted, too tired to put any force behind his words.

“Heard you come in,” Sam replied, his voice thick with sleep. He yawned before saying, “I hope you enjoyed dancing with my brother.”

Cas thought for a moment, trying to word his response carefully. “I quite enjoy your brother’s company,” he said.

Sam chuckled again. “I guess. You wouldn’t stop dancing.”

Cas shrugged even though he knew Sam couldn’t see him. “Can you get me the address where I can reach him?”

“I can,” Sam said. He shifted in his bedroll. “They’re heading back to Manhattan, since the fighting’s moved away from there.”

*~*~*~*~*

In the week following the ball, Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Cas. He sat down several times to try to write a letter, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. All he wanted to write was _Thank you._ And that didn’t exactly fill up an entire page.

He moved back into his room in the mansion in Manhattan almost regretfully. Here he was closer to his father, and he wanted nothing more than to be away from his father, especially since he knew now that there were kind Alphas in the world. The view from the window still faced the war, even if the fighting was far enough away now that it couldn’t be seen from New York. Dean didn’t want to face the war. Thinking of the war only made him think of his father, and Sam, and Cas.

He pushed those thoughts from his mind.

He filled his days with studying and playing the piano, though he knew he was just distracting himself until his father could find someone to marry him off to.

Just over a week after the ball, Donna walked into the music room to find Dean turning pages in his music, trying to find something he wanted to play. He’d played everything about ten times over the past week.

“Dean?” Donna asked.

Dean glanced up at her curiously.

“Letter for you,” Donna said by way of answer, holding out a folded sheet of paper to Dean.

“Thank you,” Dean said. He took the paper carefully, as if it might bite him; no one ever sent him mail. He stood and made his way to his room; he wanted to open it privately, his first letter.

 

_Dean,_

_I wished to thank you again for your company a few nights ago. You are an excellent dancer, and I thank you for not stepping on my toes. I was quite intrigued by what you told me of yourself, and, if I may be so bold, I would like to request continued correspondence with you. I have thought of you often here, and I wish for nothing more than to learn more about you._

_I am,_  
                _Your most humble Servant to command,_  
_C. Novak_

Dean read the letter six times, almost committing it to memory. It was written in a neat, careful script, and Dean wondered how many times Cas had rewritten it. Underneath the signature at the bottom was an address where Dean could send a response, and Dean immediately went to his desk, letter in hand.

*~*~*~*~*

It wasn’t long before Dean and Cas were exchanging letters regularly. The first few were proper, bordering on formal, but as their relationship developed, their letters became far more conversational. They even stopped rewriting for minor edits, and Dean would run his hands over Cas’ changes. It felt private, somehow, to see what he initially said crossed out in favor of what he decided he wanted to say. The changes weren’t near as neat as the rest of the writing, and Dean had a nagging feeling he’d seen the hurried, scrawled writing before, though he couldn’t quite place where.

They were both far more open with each other than they had allowed themselves to be with others. Dean learned what happened to Cas’ parents ( _My father left us when I was young; I never discovered the reason with any certainty. My mother and I were alone for two years before we both fell ill. She didn’t make it._ ), and he discovered that, at least in writing, Cas went back to a much more formal style when he was talking about something personal. For the first time in his life, Dean told someone about his misgivings about his father ( _As soon as I presented, he stopped treating me like his son. Sometimes I wake up worried that he’s decided to marry me off to some stranger for some political gain._ ).

When John returned from the war with his leg in a splint and heavily bandaged, Dean wrote a hurried letter to Cas not to write to him anymore ( _Dad’s back (he’s hurt, but he’ll live) and I don’t want him to know we’ve been writing. I think Donna and Jo and Adam are the only ones who know. I’m afraid of what he’ll say._ ). Dean didn’t bother to sign it, but he knew that after several months of near-constant communication, Cas would know who it was from.

Dean received two letters after that. The first had been sent before Dean sent his most recent letter, and Dean smiled at what was written, though he didn’t write an answer. The second was far shorter, in response to John’s return.

 

      _Dean,_

_If you’ll have me, I would like to ask your father for your hand._

_With all my Love, I am as Always,_  
                    _Your most humble Servant to command,_  
_Cas_

 

Dean sat and stared at the letter in his room for half an hour, his mind seemingly unable to comprehend the words on the page. He hadn’t seen Cas since the night at the ball, but he knew that if he woke up in the morning and his father had decided to marry him to someone else, he would be heartbroken. Cas knew him better than anyone else, and Dean didn’t know if another Alpha existed who he could trust like he could trust Cas.

Dean finally crossed to his desk and sat heavily, trying to decide what to write. He restarted several times, and in the end, there was only one word he felt he needed to use to answer.

_Yes._

*~*~*~*~*

Dean sat very still in his seat, not wanting to make a move that might influence what his father would say.

John and Cas were sitting facing each other, almost suspended in time, neither of them moving a muscle. Dean felt frozen in his seat, and he was sure his mother and Jo and Adam felt the same way.

They were all in the sitting room after dinner. Cas had written to John requesting an audience and had in turn been invited to the evening meal at the Winchester home. The mood all through dinner had been light (at least relatively so) and no one had bothered to ask why Cas had decided to drop in. The general assumption seemed to have been that he was there on some kind of business for the military, but Dean knew; all through dinner he’d been jumpy and had avoided his father’s gaze more than he usually did. But Dean thought John must have had some kind of idea as to what was going on because when Cas had asked for his blessing, he gave no indication that he was surprised.

Cas had been prepared. He had known exactly what to say. He managed to say that he cared for Dean _and_ that the match would be beneficial. Somehow he had figured out John Winchester with only one face-to-face meeting, and Dean couldn’t think of a reasonable argument his father could give. Not that he was getting his hopes up for a reasonable answer.

Finally, after five seconds or half an hour, John stood, leaning heavily on the crutch under his arm. Cas rose as well, his gaze never leaving John’s face. When John offered a hand, Cas took it firmly, refusing to release it until John said something.

“You take care of him,” John said.

Cas nodded and released John’s hand, a slightly perplexed look on his face that he managed to hide quite well.

Dean felt a hand on his arm and looked over to see his mother smiling at him. And if he knew that look at all, she was already planning something.

*~*~*~*~*

The wedding was small and hurried, which suited Dean and Cas just fine. Since neither of them was mated, the wedding didn’t mean much aside from a familial connection, but it was an event to publicly tie them together, and that seemed to be what John wanted, though Cas couldn’t figure out why. Not that he minded much. All of Dean’s siblings and their parents were in attendance, and Kevin and Charlie managed to find the time off to make it just as the ceremony started.

Cas and Dean were both seated at the head of the table for dinner after the ceremony, with their friends and family on either side. Dean squirmed in his seat every so often, not at all used to being the center of attention. Cas kept a hold of his hand under the table.

About halfway through the main course, Jo stood and tapped a knife against her glass. It took a moment for everyone to quiet down, but eventually she had everyone’s attention.

“I would like to propose a toast,” she said, raising her glass. She smiled at Dean and Cas, not far from where she was sitting. “To my brother. And to the man who loves him. I wish only the best for you.”

Everyone around the table raised their glasses (a few with cries of “Here here!”) and drank. Dean felt his face turn bright red and he looked determinedly at his plate. Cas drew Dean’s hand up and kissed the back of it, earning cheers from a few of the guests, most notably Sam and Charlie.

“I would also like to propose a toast to myself, for bringing them together,” Jo said. A few laughs sounded around the table. Jo rolled her eyes and took a sip from her glass. She noticed that Dean and Cas raised their glasses to her and drank as well.

It was toward the end of the evening, when dinner had been taken away and the last notes of one of the last songs was drifting away on the breeze and most everyone was saying their good-byes that Crowley showed up.

“Hard to get away when someone’s shooting at you,” he said, an apologetic look on his face as Cas approached him.

“I didn’t think that you would make it,” Cas said, shaking Crowley’s hand.

Crowley waved him off. “I came to say congratulations, nothing more.” He glanced around the area and raised an eyebrow. “I see your whole gang is here.”

“Of course they are,” Cas said, clapping Crowley on the shoulder. “And congratulations to you, Lieutenant Colonel. What it must be like to have a command of your own.”

“Don’t talk like that. You don’t mean it,” Crowley said dismissively.

“Yes I do.”

Crowley gave him a skeptical look. “Be sensible for once, would you? From what I’ve heard, you’ve made yourself indispensable.”

“Crowley!” Sam called, stumbling over. He reeked like alcohol, and Charlie and Kevin were trailing after him as if to make sure he didn’t get himself into trouble. When he was close enough, he glanced around as if he were looking for something. “Where’s your girl?”

“Your girl?” Cas asked curiously.

“She couldn’t come tonight?” Sam asked, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

Crowley gave Sam a slightly amused look. “I should get going,” he said. He made to turn, but Cas caught his arm.

“No, it’s alright,” Cas said, throwing Sam a concerned look.

“Sorry, we have had a lot to drink,” Charlie said. “Maybe too much celebration.” She and Kevin grabbed for Sam’s arms and barely managed to hold on to them as they pulled him away.

“I wish you’d brought this girl with you tonight,” Cas said, watching the group leave. He saw Dean smile and say something to his brother that made Sam huff. Cas smiled at them.

Crowley shrugged Cas’ hand off his arm. “You’re very kind,” he said, “but circumstance wouldn’t allow it.”

“Why not?” Cas turned back to face Crowley, a concerned look on his face.

Crowley sighed. “She’s married. To a British officer.”

“Oh,” Cas breathed, surprised.

Crowley shook his head. “Congratulations again, Castiel. I’ll see you on the other side of the war.”

“I don’t understand you,” Cas said. Dean was walking over, and Cas reached out for him, pulling him close and wrapping his arm around him, just because he could now. “If you love this woman, go get her. What are you waiting for?”

“I’ll see you around, Castiel,” Crowley said. He turned and walked away without another word.

“What was that about?” Dean asked.

“Nothing in particular,” Cas replied. He looked over at Dean, and became aware of how silent it was around them. A quick look around showed that they were among the few remaining guests, among them Dean’s family. Mary smiled at them and made a _shoo_ motion with her hand, as if to tell them to get going. Cas smiled back at her. “Let’s go home.”

It was a short walk to their little house in Harlem. It was two stories, but narrow; there was a garden in the back that could be called a yard if one wanted to be generous. There wouldn’t be much room for a large family, but it was large enough for now, and would be for a few years.

Cas opened the door carefully, but paused, turning to face Dean. “Am I supposed to carry you across the threshold?” he asked.

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. “You can, I guess,” he said anyway.

Cas furrowed his brow and took Dean’s hand instead, leading him inside and up the stairs. He wondered how long it would take for Dean to realize he was allowed to say no.

There wasn’t much in the bedroom – just a sparsely made bed with a nightstand on both sides, and a wardrobe shoved into one corner. Cas and Sam had packed everything earlier that day so Dean wouldn’t see the house before it was actually his, and now Cas got to watch Dean’s face light up as he wandered around the room and touched everything, as if reminding himself that it was his and he was in charge of it.

“What do you think?” Cas asked.

Dean sat on the bed and turned to face Cas, the biggest grin Cas had ever seen plastered on his face. “It’s mine,” he said, running his hand over the blanket.

Cas smiled, just taking in the sight of Dean _here_ and _happy_. “All yours,” he said.

“And you’re mine,” Dean said quietly, his smile softening.

Cas’ smile widened. “All yours.”

“Thank you,” Dean said, almost inaudibly.

“You’re my mate,” Cas said with a shrug. “As long as I’m alive, Dean, you’ll be taken care of.”

Dean’s hand rubbed at his neck, his brows furrowing in confusion. “We aren’t mated,” he pointed out.

“Not yet,” Cas said. He crossed the room to Dean and knelt in front of him. He squeezed Dean’s knee reassuringly, and his nose was assaulted with the mingled scent of slick and nerves.

“Sorry,” Dean said sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably as he caught a whiff of himself. “I haven’t done this before.” His face was red hot a moment later because of course he hadn’t done this before, Cas would know that.

Cas just offered Dean a comforting smile. “I haven’t either,” he said.

“But you’re an Alpha,” Dean said, confused.

Cas nodded. “I am,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ve felt the need to do this before.” He started trailing his hand up Dean’s thigh, and Dean shuddered under his touch. “I’ll take care of you Dean, I promise. And if you change your mind, we can wait. You don’t owe me anything.”

Dean nodded. He placed his hand over Cas’ and squeezed, and Cas smiled at him, leaning forward to knock his forehead against Dean’s.

“I love you Dean,” Cas said.

Dean could only nod, his eyes wide. He hadn’t yet released Cas’ hand, and he tugged on it in invitation, his voice failing him.

Cas took the hint and pressed his mouth against Dean’s.

There wasn’t much time to be had off during a war, but Bobby had given Cas the weekend and his blessing.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Wait For It  
> Stay Alive

When Crowley returned to his tent, he was quick to take off his uniform and crawl into his bedroll. He shifted to try to get comfortable and heard the telltale crinkling of paper. He swore and reached under his back to pull out the letter he’d forgotten to put away before he’d left, hoping he hadn’t managed to tear it.

He received a letter from Billie nearly every day, and it was all he could do to respond to three or four at a time.

The two had met a year or so before while Crowley had been on leave in New York. He hadn’t expected any kind of relationship with her, but it wasn’t long until they were exchanging letters and finding excuses to visit each other. Crowley had known from the get-go that she was married to her second husband (a British military officer fighting in Georgia) with a stale mating bite from her first (who had died in a hunting accident almost a decade before). She was older than Crowley was, but she never made a fuss over it and so neither did he.

Crowley stared at the letter in the dark, unable to read it. He wondered, not for the first time, why she had decided she liked him when there were so many other people vying for her affections. It didn’t help his curiosity that they were both Alphas and Billie could almost have her pick of who she wanted. There had to be a reason, but Crowley had thus far not been able to piece it out. He thought briefly of asking, but he quickly dismissed that notion; if it was really that important, she’d bring it up herself. He’d simply have to wait.

After a few minutes of staring at what was effectively a blank page, Crowley sat up and pulled his footlocker to himself so he could pack the letter away. He set the letter on top, not bothering to look at the other contents; they weren’t significant – a few mementos he’d actually bothered to keep and more letters than he knew what to do with.

There was one letter, at the bottom, that held a different significance than the ones stacked on top. It was a letter Crowley had received when he was a child, not long after his parents had passed away. It was a short letter, almost formal, that was addressed to him from his mother. In the letter, she claimed she had always loved him, even if she hadn’t always been the warmest person, and she wished she could go back and start over. Crowley was never sure what to make of that letter. There were some days he was convinced it was another way she had hoped to manipulate him and he wanted to burn it; other days, he would read it over and it would seem so genuine that he would start to second-guess what he remembered of his mother.

He should just get rid of the letter, he knew that. But instead, he closed the lid of his footlocker and shoved it back in its corner.

Crowley’s thoughts turned inexplicably to Castiel then. Was he happy for the man? Sure. As much as he could be. What he couldn’t figure out was how Castiel continued to catch a break; it seemed that no matter what Castiel tried, he’d succeed. Crowley never tried to devote any thought to how his rivals got where they were, but he couldn’t help but envy Castiel; when it came down to it, Castiel really didn’t have anything to lose.

While Crowley had never been fond of his parents, he was always aware that he had big shoes to fill. His father had been a military man, and well respected; his mother had been highly intelligent. Crowley took after his mother’s intelligence, and had been almost forced into following his father’s military path by the expectations of those around him. Not that it had turned out so horribly for him so far.

What he wouldn’t give to have that pressure taken off of him.

Crowley shook his head to clear it, rolling over and pulling his blanket tight around his shoulders, despite the heat in his tent. He would control what he could, and the only thing he could control was himself. He’d wait for the timing to be right, and then he’d do what had to be done.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas was back to work at the crack of dawn Monday morning, a fresh mating bite where his neck and shoulder met. None of the people close to him questioned it, but a few of the regular soldiers gave him odd looks when they caught the scent of Omega on him. In mated couples, if one was an Omega, the Omega was usually the only one to have a bite. But Cas had insisted.

“I’m yours. You said so yourself,” he had said. “Claim me.”

Dean tried to act like it didn’t affect him, but Cas could tell he was pleased.

“Congratulations,” Jody said when she gave Cas the first of his assignments for the day, gesturing to the bite peeking out from under his collar. “But I have to say, I was worried you might show up late.”

“I would never be late,” Cas said with a half smile. “You’ve trained me too well for that.”

“Well I hope your training benefits your mate too,” Jody said, smacking Cas on the arm with the folded sheets of paper in her hand. She wore a proud smile despite herself. “Now get your ass moving, Romeo.”

The next few days were longer than usual, with several messages going out to the soldiers on the front and several more coming back from different spy networks. A plan was worked out that involved near constant evasion during the day, when the better armed and numbered British would have the advantage, and quick strikes by night, when the odds were more evenly distributed.

It seemed that all there was now was a contest of stamina. The armies were merely skirmishing, seeing who would call it quits first.

As soon as there was a lull in activity, Bobby asked Kevin in to speak privately. Kevin wouldn’t say what it was they talked about, and he rode back to New York later that evening, saying something about heading back to his apprenticeship.

Cas tried his damndest to get Bobby to tell him what had happened with Kevin, but Bobby wouldn’t budge; all Bobby would say was that Kevin was only on leave, he’d be back soon. Cas knew he wouldn’t be able to coax the answer out of the General, and he certainly wasn’t going to vent his frustrations to the other aides. He wrote to Dean about it instead.

Cas kept every letter he received from Dean. They were all folded neatly and tied together under Cas’ bedroll. Sometimes he read them by candlelight before bed.

It seemed everyone had suddenly started writing. Charlie started writing correspondences to the French government asking for aid. When Cas asked her why she was doing it instead of Bobby, she replied, “The French government has more reason to trust me than they do our General Singer.” Cas had given her a puzzled look, and she had smirked at him. “There is also the matter of the dreadful state of the General’s French.”

Sam and Cas worked closely, co-writing essays condemning both the toxic rule they lived under and the status quo that still no one seemed interested in changing. When they weren’t writing, they were poring over the maps Bobby always had with his things. Bobby had taken to trusting his aides to properly mark where different supply lines were and where troops were moving. Sam and Cas took complete advantage of the privilege and it wasn’t long before there seemed to be a second map overlaying the first, this one made of words and directive lines.

While Bobby had a gift for battle strategy, it soon became evident that Sam and Cas had eyes for the best way to ruin the enemy’s day. They were able to orchestrate plans to quickly and quietly cut off supply lines and block the more straightforward travel paths so the redcoats would be directed to areas where the Colonies would have an easier time fighting.

One night, about a month after the wedding, Cas walked into Bobby’s tent and cleared his throat, effectively pulling Bobby’s attention from the letter he was reading. “General Singer, sir,” Cas greeted.

“You should be getting some sleep, son,” Bobby replied, though he didn’t make any move to prevent Cas from speaking.

“One of your officers was killed today,” Cas said. “Though I’m sure you already knew that.”

Bobby’s face darkened. “I’m aware. Is that all?”

“I would like to request that I take over his command,” Cas replied, his voice clipped and formal.

Bobby leaned back in his chair. He studied Cas for a moment, then glanced down at the letter on the desk in front of him. “No,” he said, his eyes flicking back up to meet Cas’. He leaned forward again, staring Cas in the eye as if daring him to challenge.

“No?” Cas asked. He was surprised, but he was quick to compose himself. “Sir, I am more than qualified for-”

“No,” Bobby repeated, more forcefully this time. “Is there anything else?”

Cas’ jaw tightened. “I could be of service-”

“I said no.” Bobby almost growled, putting so much force in his voice that Cas was tempted to step back. “If you have nothing else to say, you are dismissed.”

Cas stood still for a moment before he turned and left the tent. When he had taken the job as an aide, he hadn’t thought it would be so much trouble to get Bobby to give him a command of his own.

Back in his tent, Cas sat down heavily. Sam was already asleep, and Cas knew he should be trying to do the same, but he couldn’t get his mind to stop working; instead of finding sleep, he was awake for a few more hours, staring up at the ceiling.

*~*~*~*~*

The fighting at Monmouth was vicious. The war had begun building on itself again, growing increasingly frenzied. Cas worked longer and longer days, and he saw the promotion of Gabriel Lee to second in command. Gabriel was a good soldier, more than capable of following orders, but there was something about him that Cas just couldn’t put his finger on; he gave the impression that fighting was not his style, despite his current situation.

Bobby had given the order to attack, and Cas and the other aides were riding as fast as they could to get information out. Jody had also given them the names of people to look out for who were supposed to have information from their network of spies. Nothing had come in thus far, but Cas kept an eye out anyway as he rode between the troops, spurring his horse faster.

Cas drew his horse, Balios, to a walk when he reached the other end of the battlefield. He was going to relay a message from Bobby to Gabriel, and he scanned the soldiers in front of him for the General.

“Castiel!” someone called.

Cas’ head whipped around to where the voice had come from, and he trotted his horse over to the soldier. “Henriksen,” he said by way of greeting. “Have you seen the General?”

“Lee? No, not today,” Henriksen replied, reloading his rifle as he spoke. “Just heard his orders though.”

Cas tilted his head curiously and listened to the drums. It took him a moment to decipher the message over the shouts and gunfire, but when he figured it out, he felt anger flare in his chest. “He called a _retreat_?” he demanded. He didn’t react when a bullet whizzed past him, missing him by inches.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” Henriksen said, leveling his gun and firing. “I don’t make the orders. I just live with the consequences.”

“Did he consider what’s going to happen if our backs are turned here?” Cas could think of at least six different ways a retreat would end badly.

“Do I look like I know?” Henriksen asked. “Believe me – I know it’s a bad idea. But I’m a Major and he’s a General, so my hands are a little tied.”

“I’ll bring it up with General Singer,” Cas said.

“See if he can find a replacement in the next half hour, yeah?” Henriksen asked.

“If I have anything to say about it, it’ll be sooner than that,” Cas promised. He turned his horse back in the direction they’d come and quickly set a bruising pace, narrowly avoiding soldiers and musket balls on their way.

It took longer than it should have to find Bobby, and by the time Cas and his horse stopped beside the General, Balios was lathered with sweat and breathing hard in the suffocating heat.

“You’re working that horse too hard,” Bobby said simply.

“What?” Cas asked, caught off guard by the simple statement, so ordinary in the chaos around them. Even so, he scratched Balios’ neck appreciatively. “I’ll give him a break as soon as we finish here.”

“Then say your piece.”

“General Lee has ordered a retreat,” Cas said. He had meant to deliver it plainly, as he usually did, but he could hear the anger coming through in his own voice.

A muscle in Bobby’s jaw was working; it was the only flaw in his otherwise composed exterior. He was quiet for a long minute before he turned his horse back toward camp. “Follow me,” he said.

Cas obediently followed, and he waited while Bobby composed a quick message.

“Find Charlie,” he said as he handed the paper up to Cas. “Have her take Lee’s place. You give that to Lee and tell him to come find me. And then you give that poor horse a break.”

Cas wanted to argue, but he knew that if he didn’t get command changed as soon as possible, they’d lose far more soldiers than they already had. He nudged Balios into a trot, heading east toward the location where Charlie was carrying information.

They almost passed each other, but Cas called soon enough that they were able to stop beside one another.

“Follow me,” Cas said, turning his horse quickly and cantering back the way they’d come. “Singer wants you to take over Lee’s command.”

“Really?” Charlie asked, a grin spreading across her face. She and her mare kept pace easily with Cas’ tiring stallion as they crossed the battlefield.

“Henriksen!” Cas called when he spotted the other soldier. He pulled his horse to a stop. “You’re still around.”

“Not by much,” Henriksen replied. The left arm of his shirt was stained red and torn across the bicep. Even so, he was upright and stuffing gunpowder down the muzzle of his rifle. “And you’re late.”

“I came with a new Commanding Officer,” Cas said, nodding to Charlie.

“Good,” Henriksen said, turning his attention to Charlie. “What would you have us do?”

*~*~*~*~*

The fighting was brutal. The heat was scorching, but even so, Cas was on his feet all day, trying to do his job without meeting a bullet in the process. He saw soldiers, young and old but mostly young, falling and bleeding out. Sometimes they cried out, but sometimes they were silent in their acceptance of their fate. Often Cas would close his eyes and keep moving; he couldn’t bear to see those beyond saving crying out for relief. The scent of their blood and fear was bad enough.

Somewhere along the line, Cas felt a sharp sting in his left leg, and he looked down to find he was bleeding. It wasn’t a serious injury – just a light graze from a musket ball, but the dirt and grime of the fight made it feel like his skin was burning. He was quick to pull his handkerchief from his pocket and tie it around the wound, continuing on his way with gritted teeth.

“Is that bad?” Charlie asked him, nodding to the handkerchief tied around his thigh.

“It’ll be fine once it’s clean,” Cas said, forcing his voice to sound light.

Charlie sniffed once, but seemed to accept Cas’ answer. Someone ran past them, and Charlie turned to bark out orders. Her plan had been complimenting Bobby’s so far, and while they didn’t have half a chance of winning the fight, they had managed to pick up enough that their enemies hadn’t been able to continue their advance.

Cas once spotted Gabriel in the fighting, calling out orders that had been passed down to him. Gabriel didn’t look too pleased with the situation, though Cas supposed he wouldn’t either if he’d been second in command and then had it taken from him.

By the time the battle ended in a stalemate, Cas couldn’t turn in a full circle without seeing a dead soldier. In the heat the smell made him sick to his stomach, but even so, he helped collect and identify all the soldiers he could. He was grateful he didn’t know many by name, but he recognized most of them from the trips he’d made across the battlefield. It made Cas’ stomach turn that the only way he knew some of them was that they’d begged him for help while they lay bleeding out, already too far gone to have any hope of pulling through.

The final count was an estimate of five hundred colonial soldiers dead.

In a rare moment of quiet, Cas did his best to get some sleep, though he found it was much more difficult to get to sleep in the quiet, when his mind had nothing to focus on and could wander. In the end, he simply lay in his tent, trying to ignore the quiet around him.

Sam came in a few minutes later with a, “Good, you’re awake.”

Cas gave Sam a slightly annoyed look, waiting for him to continue.

“The General let Lee go,” Sam explained.

“Good,” Cas said, looking back up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, but you haven’t heard what Lee’s been saying about Bobby since then,” Sam added.

Cas furrowed his brow and pushed himself into a sitting position. “What has he been saying?”

“The gist of it is that Bobby isn’t fit for command,” Sam said.

Cas felt his blood boil. He’d read that sentiment enough times in the letters the General received from Congress, and each time it made him want to hit something. General Singer had kept the colonial forces afloat thus far, despite the odds stacked against him. Cas was angry that he hadn’t been given his own command, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the logic behind the General’s decisions.

“How is the General reacting?” Cas asked. He picked himself up and made his way outside.

“He’s not, as far as I know,” Sam replied, following after Cas.

Cas made his way to Bobby’s tent. “General Singer?” he asked when he paused outside the tent. He waited for a reply before he entered. “Sir, have you heard what-”

“If you’re going to ask me if I know what Lee’s been saying, the answer is yes,” Bobby said. He took the letter he was reading and held it out to Cas.

Cas took the letter and skimmed it quickly before handing it back. Bobby handed it off to Sam. “Sir, we have to do something about this,” Cas said.

Bobby shook his head. “No, we don’t,” he said.

“We have to address his claims,” Cas insisted.

Bobby’s face hardened. “Castiel, you will not retaliate on anything Lee has said,” he said, voice like iron. “History will prove him wrong.”

“But, sir,” Cas started.

“We have a war to fight,” Bobby interrupted, “in case you forgot.”

Cas set his jaw, but nodded all the same. They were dismissed as soon as Sam handed the letter back.

“Lee’s got some strong opinions,” Sam said as soon as they were out of earshot. “Someone should hold him to them.”

“I can’t disobey direct orders,” Cas said stiffly, his fists clenched.

“Then I’ll do it,” Sam said thoughtfully. When Cas gave him a surprised look, he shrugged. “The General didn’t give me any orders.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Ten Duel Commandments  
> Meet Me Inside

“Lee!” Sam called, jogging up to where Gabriel was packing the last of his things.

Gabriel glanced up at the sound of his name, but his face hardened when he saw who it was. “What do you want, Winchester?” he asked, not pausing in his packing.

“I’ve heard what you’ve been saying about General Singer,” Sam said.

“I hope so,” Gabriel replied, rolling his eyes. “I haven’t exactly been hiding it.”

Sam took a deep breath. “General Singer’s a family friend,” he started.

Gabriel paused and stood up straight, turning to face Sam. They were both Alphas, but Sam was still a head and a half taller than Gabriel. “Is this relevant?” he asked, though it was clear from his tone that he knew exactly where this was going.

Sam bristled at the scent of aggression in the air. “What you’re saying about him isn’t true,” he said.

“Maybe your close personal relationship with the General is clouding your judgment,” Gabriel shot back. He took a moment to compose himself, though there was still hostility just below the surface. “I assume you came for a reason, Winchester.”

“Take back what you’ve said,” Sam said. He took a half step forward.

Gabriel drew himself up and stared Sam in the eye. “No.”

“You know what’ll happen,” Sam warned.

“I’m not an idiot Samuel,” Gabriel said.

A tense silence followed, and lasted for several seconds, before Gabriel finally said, “I would go find a second, Winchester. Tell him to meet back here in an hour.”

Sam fought a sneer off his face and turned on his heel. He could hear Gabriel resume his packing behind him.

“What’d he say?” Cas asked. The look on his face said he’d already guessed.

“I’ll need your help,” Sam replied.

Cas just nodded, and an hour later he found himself at Gabriel’s spot, facing Crowley. He raised a brow at the other man. “I didn’t know you and Lee were close,” he said.

Crowley shrugged. “I owed him a favor,” he said simply.

“You’re picking a side for once,” Cas observed. “I’m proud of you.”

Crowley’s expression hardened. “I’m repaying a favor,” he said.

“Then explain to me how we can get this resolved quickly,” Cas said.

“I’m told if Samuel won’t apologize, Gabriel isn’t going to stand down,” Crowley said simply. He sounded bored.

“Sam doesn’t need to apologize,” Cas countered. “Gabriel is the one dragging the General’s name through the dirt.”

“And Lee doesn’t need to apologize for voicing his opinion,” Crowley said.

“Didn’t you once tell me that fools who run their mouths off wind up dead?” Cas asked, head tilted slightly.

A muscle in Crowley’s jaw was working. “Nonetheless,” he said, “Gabriel will not take back what he’s said.”

Cas paused, studying Crowley. “Then Sam won’t stop this,” he said. “Where would you have it happen?”

“The eastern edge of the battlefield,” Crowley said, clearly having already had this conversation with Gabriel. “Far enough from everyone not to cause a stir, close enough that a medic can be there quickly.”

“Fair enough,” Cas ceded. “You’ll speak with the medic?”

“Of course.”

“Then I don’t believe there’s anything else for us to discuss,” Cas said coldly.

“I don’t believe so,” Crowley said. “We’ll see you at dawn.”

Cas nodded and turned on his heel to leave.

“Castiel,” Crowley called.

Cas paused and turned his head to the side so he could hear what Crowley had to say.

“I never took you for a fool,” Crowley said.

Cas sneered. “Yes you did,” he said, continuing on his way.

When Cas returned to his tent, he found Sam bent over his footlocker, writing out a letter.

Sam glanced up when Cas entered. “So?”

“He won’t stand down,” Cas said. “The duel is to take place at the eastern edge of the battlefield, tomorrow at dawn.”

Sam sighed, turning back to his letter. He paused, his quill hovering over the page. He glanced up at Cas. “If something happens,” he started, trailing off at the end.

“Nothing will happen,” Cas assured him.

Sam shook his head. “If something happens, to me,” he said, his voice croaking slightly on the last word, “would you tell Dean?” When Cas only offered him a confused look, he added, “I don’t want him to hear about me from a letter. And I don’t want my father to be the one to tell him either.”

Cas took a deep breath, but he nodded all the same. “If something happens to you, I’ll tell Dean myself,” he promised, taking a seat on his bedroll. He retrieved a letter from his footlocker that he hadn’t yet gotten a chance to read.

“Thank you,” Sam said, turning back to his letter. For a few minutes, the only sound in the tent was the scratching of Sam’s quill.

“You’ll be fine Sam,” Cas said, not looking up from his letter.

Sam offered no response.

*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, Sam, Cas, Crowley, and Gabriel were at the edge of the battlefield before the sun was. Sam and Gabriel glared at each other from across the clearing.

Cas gripped Sam’s shoulder once before he approached Crowley.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask that you’ve changed your mind,” Crowley said.

“Not unless you’ve changed yours,” Cas replied with a shrug.

Crowley shook his head, glancing at Sam over Cas’ shoulder. Cas could almost see him change tactics. “Can we agree that duels are immature?” Crowley asked, looking back to Cas.

“I would not try to deny that,” Cas said. “But that doesn’t change our present situation.” He shrugged again. “Lee still has to pay for what he’s said.”

“With his life?” Crowley asked, ignoring the look Cas gave him. “We both know that’s absurd.”

Cas narrowed his eyes at Crowley. “How many men died because of Lee’s poor command?” he challenged. Crowley didn’t answer for a moment, so he added, “You know the official count as well as I do, Crowley.”

Crowley sighed. “I guess this is happening then,” he said.

“I guess,” Cas agreed. He glanced around the battlefield. “You spoke to the medic?”

Crowley nodded. “Tessa has too many patients to be present here, but she has promised someone will be available to help us.”

Cas shook his head and turned on his heel, making his way back to Sam.

“I guess we’re still going through with it,” Sam said, trying for a half smile. He was clearly trying to remain calm, but his anxious scent gave him away.

Cas nodded unhappily. “Don’t throw away your shot,” he deadpanned.

Sam nodded. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. He stared down at the pistol in his hand and turned it over a few times. When Crowley called for Sam and Gabriel to approach each other, Sam jumped slightly before shaking himself and walking forward. He shook hands with Gabriel stiffly.

Cas watched as Sam and Gabriel turned to face away from each other, and then Crowley was counting out their paces.

“ _One. Two.”_

It was almost comical, how much further Sam’s stride carried him across the field than Gabriel’s. Cas wondered if that would affect anything.

“ _Three. Four.”_

Sam’s grip on his pistol tightened and loosened as he walked. He almost dropped it once, and he held so tight after that that his knuckles turned white.

_“Five. Six.”_

Sam thought about his family then. He was glad he had seen them just a couple months before. He was glad Cas would keep an eye on Dean and Jo and Adam if he didn’t make it out of this.

_“Seven. Eight.”_

Sam took a deep breath, feeling panic crawl up his spine. He didn’t know how good a shot Gabriel was. To make it to as high a rank as he had, he had to be pretty good, didn’t he? Sam wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore.

 _“Nine. Ten._ ”

Sam managed to turn just a hair faster, his pistol level. He pulled the trigger almost without aiming, on instinct.

Gabriel was a half second too late, and his shot flew wide as Sam’s bullet punctured his side and knocked him to the ground.

For half a second, no one moved. Time seemed to have frozen, until Crowley finally stepped forward. He crouched down and tried to roll Gabriel over, but Gabriel waved him off, rolling onto his back by himself with an agonized groan. Crowley was quick to press a handkerchief to the wound on Gabriel’s side.

Cas walked over to Sam, who was staring at Gabriel lying on the ground, dumbfounded. Cas put a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and Sam jumped half a foot to the right, a wild look in his eye.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, when he realized who was there.

Cas waved the apology off. He didn’t make a move toward Sam, but he didn’t step away either. He stiffened when he heard footsteps approaching.

“What the _hell_ is going on here?” Bobby demanded as he stepped into the clearing. He took in the scene quickly and rushed to Gabriel on the ground. “Crowley, get a medic for the General.”

“Yes sir,” Crowley said. He was on his feet in an instant, rushing off in the direction of the hospital tent.

“Lee, believe me, these men do not speak for me,” Bobby said, glaring over at Cas and Sam. “Castiel, get to my tent and wait for me there.”

Cas set his jaw, but did as he was told. He could feel eyes on his back as he went, but he ignored them. He kicked a rock out of his way.

He wasn’t sure how long he waited in Bobby’s tent, but he refused to take a seat. He worked on calming himself down so his annoyance wouldn’t be obvious from the second Bobby walked in the tent.

He could see the maps from where he was standing, and he studied them as well as he could from his spot; there were new marks on them, and he was curious to know where the British were headed. New names were written as well, and Cas recognized a few, as well as recognizing the absence of other names he’d expected to see.

When Bobby walked into the tent, Cas straightened up and stared straight ahead, clearing his face of any emotion. Bobby sat heavily in the chair behind his desk. He studied Cas for a moment before he sighed. “Son,” he started.

“Don’t call me son,” Cas interrupted. Usually he ignored it, but he wasn’t in the mood to be patronized.

“This war is hard enough without us fighting each other,” Bobby continued, his voice growing more frustrated as he went on. “The enemy is _out there_.”

“Lee was making false claims,” Cas said. “We called his bluff.”

“Dueling doesn’t solve anything,” Bobby growled. “What do you think he’s going to say about this operation now?”

“You’re right,” Cas said, his voice still neutral. “If Sam had shot him in the mouth, he wouldn’t be able to say anything.”

“Son-”

“I’m not your son.”

“I don’t need defending,” Bobby said. The smell of his anger was starting to fill the tent. “You don’t need to take it upon yourself-”

“Lee and Conway take your name and they rake it through the mud,” Cas countered. He tried to get a hold of himself before his annoyance became too apparent. “You won’t do anything to stop them.”

“My name had been dragged through the mud long before you came around, and they’ll continue to drag it through the mud long after we’re both in the ground,” Bobby shot back.

“Well I don’t _have_ your name,” Cas said, his voice strained. “But if you-”

“No.” Bobby sounded like he was fighting against saying something he would regret.

“If you gave me command of a battalion, I could have a place to go _after_ the war,” Cas said forcefully.

“Or you could _die_ out there,” Bobby said, “and we need you alive.”

“I came out here _knowing_ I could die,” Cas growled. “I came prepared for that.”

“Your mate needs you alive, son, I need you alive,” Bobby said, exasperated.

“Leave Dean out of this,” Cas snapped, finally glaring at Bobby with fury in his eyes. He’d ignore Bobby calling him his son if it meant keeping the General from using Dean as leverage. Of course Cas knew Dean needed him alive, but he didn’t need Bobby to point it out to try to keep him from going into combat.

Bobby was quiet a moment, studying Cas. Then he seemed to remember something and he glanced down at his desk. He pulled a sheet of paper toward himself and picked up a pen. It was quiet in the tent for a moment, the only sound coming from Bobby’s quill scratching the paper. When he had finished writing, he folded the sheet up and handed it to Cas.

“Go home, Castiel,” Bobby said, sounding tired. He held out the paper by its edge. “That’s an order. From your commander.”

Cas recoiled, blinking in quiet surprise. He looked at the folded paper as one might look at a snake that one couldn’t tell was poisonous or not. “Sir?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“Go _home_ ,” Bobby repeated. Cas was suddenly reminded that Bobby was more than twice his age; often Bobby was so animated, even when he was studying his maps in the stillness of his tent, that Cas never thought much of his age. Now, holding out Cas’ discharge, he actually looked like a man who had seen two wars in his more than forty years.

Cas took the sheet of paper without another word and turned to go. He half hoped Bobby would call him back inside and rip the discharge to pieces.

Sam was already back at the tent when Cas returned. “What happened?” he asked, looking up when Cas entered.

Cas threw the paper in Sam’s direction without a word before he started packing his meager possessions.

“Discharge?” Sam asked, staring at the paper in his hands. “That wasn’t bad enough for a discharge. And if it was, I should be the one going home, not you.”

“The duel was my idea, and he knows it,” Cas said blankly. “Did he tell you how he found out about it?”

“Tessa told him,” Sam replied. Cas could hear him refolding the paper. “And she thinks Gabriel will pull through.”

Cas nodded, half to himself. He picked up his most recent letter from Dean and stared at it; he’d meant to write an answering letter that night, but now it seemed he’d be home sooner than a response would.

“When you get home,” Sam said, “tell Dean I said hi.”

“I will.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> That Would Be Enough

As soon as Cas finished packing his things, he heard the tell-tale squeak of wagon wheels. He grabbed his footlocker, which was now stuffed full, and headed toward the sound.

The other aides were helping unload the supplies, grabbing crates and boxes and running off to deliver them where they needed to be. Cas waited a few steps back so he wouldn’t get in the way. He had to stop himself once or twice from giving orders that weren’t his to give anymore.

When the first wagon was just about empty, Cas stepped forward to find the man who had been handing supplies down. “Benny,” he called, effectively stopping the man from climbing back into his seat and driving his team away.

“Castiel,” Benny said, wiping his hand on his breeches and holding it out for Cas to shake. “I’d thought you were going to be up early to meet us.”

Cas shook his head. “I’ve been sent home,” he said.

“No kidding,” Benny said. “Come to say good-bye then?”

“I was hoping I could ride back with you,” Cas replied. “I just need to get my horse.”

Benny considered for a moment. He glanced toward his team, and Cas could almost see his mind working. “Sure, what the hell,” Benny said with a shrug, turning back to face Cas. “I’ll send a rider ahead into New York to see what we can get there. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thanks Benny,” Cas said, handing his trunk up. “I owe you one.”

“Don’t say that,” Benny said with a laugh. “I might take you up on it.”

Cas was quick to get Balios saddled and ready to go. He swung himself into the saddle easily, and he was grateful that he didn’t see any of his friends on his way out; he didn’t want to be stopped by good-byes.

Benny was waiting just outside camp, his draft team standing half-asleep in their traces. Cas could see where the dirt was churned up from several other teams that had already started on their way.

“I hope I didn’t hold you up,” Cas said as he rode up alongside the wagon.

Benny waved him off and picked up his reins. “We’ll catch up; we’re all headed the same direction.”

Cas was quiet most of the ride from New Jersey to New York. Sometimes Benny would talk to fill the silence – about the Beta girl he was courting, about what he thought of the war or what would come after. Cas would indulge him, nodding and responding when it was polite to, asking appropriate questions. Mostly Cas thought of what he was going to say to Dean; he didn’t want to tell him about the duel (he could only imagine how Dean would react if he knew that Sam had been involved).

“You feeling alright?” Benny asked, sometime in the early afternoon. “You’ve been awful quiet this whole time.”

“I just haven’t been home in a while,” Cas answered easily. At least it was the truth.

“You reckon your mate’s missed you?” Benny asked.

Cas smiled slightly, thinking of Dean’s most recent letter. “He tells me he has.”

Benny chuckled at him, shaking his head. “I’d like that one day.”

Cas sighed, his thoughts turning back to what he’d have to tell Dean later that evening. But even by the time they pulled up to the stable where Cas would keep his horse (around six in the evening) he hadn’t decided what he would say.

“You need any help getting that home?” Benny asked as he handed the footlocker down.

Cas shook his head. “Thanks for hauling it for me,” he said, setting the trunk on the ground by the stable. His horse had his head low, one hind leg resting.

“You said you owe me,” Benny said, retaking his spot in the driver’s seat. “Remember that.”

“I will.” Cas led Balios into the stable and found the stall that had been on reserve for him since the last time he’d been home. When his horse had been properly groomed and had fresh bedding and hay, Cas made sure to find a worker to request extra grain for the stallion in the morning.

It had only been an hour since he’d arrived, and the sun still had yet to set. Cas took a deep breath and, taking his footlocker under his arm, he quickly made his way toward home. For the first time all day, he felt excitement start to creep into his chest.

The house was just as he remembered it, if a little better maintained. The windows were open to the warm evening air, and there were flower pots hanging on the window sills. Cas could smell dinner, and it made his stomach rumble.

He fished in his pocket for his key and deftly opened the door, despite his having one hand full.

“Dean?” he called, stepping inside and setting his trunk just inside the door. He could hear the activity in the kitchen pause for a moment before there were footsteps coming down the hall.

“Cas,” Dean breathed when he caught sight of his mate. In a second he had his arms around Cas, his face buried in his mate’s neck.

Cas wrapped his arms around Dean and held him close. In the chaos he’d been living through, he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed Dean, missed this closeness, and he took a deep breath of Dean’s scent.

And froze.

Cas pulled back just enough that he could see Dean’s face, searching it for confirmation. Dean just smiled at him and nodded. Cas took a breath to try to steady himself and took another step back, his eyes roaming over Dean’s body. Dean didn’t look much different, but now that Cas knew what he was looking for, he could just see the beginnings of a bump in Dean’s lower abdomen.

“How long have you known?” Cas asked quietly, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

“About a month,” Dean said, one of his hands letting go of Cas and going to his belly.

Cas met Dean’s gaze again, surprised. “What?” he asked, sure he must have heard wrong.

“I’ve known for a month, Cas,” Dean said, his expression falling marginally.

“You… You never mentioned anything,” Cas said, mystified. He couldn’t remember even one instance in which Dean mentioned a pup in his letters. Not even hypothetically.

“I wrote to Bobby,” Dean said. He searched Cas’ face as he spoke, unsure of what to make of Cas’ reaction. “I asked him to send you home.”

Now Cas was upset, though not because he could guess which letter had been Dean’s. He wasn’t even angry with Dean, but now he was starting to panic. He took another step back, dropping his hands. He could tell it upset Dean that he had dropped all contact between them, and that understanding made him want to gather Dean up in his arms and hide them both away. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice soft.

A rejected look made its way across Dean’s face, and he crossed both his arms protectively in front of himself. For the first time since the ball in February, Cas thought he could see the scared Omega Dean had been when he was growing up. “I didn’t think you would come home,” Dean replied quietly. “And I knew you _couldn’t_ without orders. So I asked Bobby. He came by a lot when I was a kid; I thought… I thought he’d listen.” Dean dropped his gaze, shuffling his feet. “You deserve to meet your family.”

“Dean,” Cas said, stepping forward again. He reached out to tentatively touch Dean’s arm. To his relief, Dean didn’t jerk away from him, only looked up at him from under his lashes. “Would you relish being mate to a poor man? One who is unable to provide for you?”

Dean’s head whipped up, and he suddenly smelled angry. The abrupt change made Cas draw back. “Don’t you do that to me,” Dean growled, wrapping his arms tighter around himself.

Cas blinked at him. “What?” he asked intelligently.

“The formalities,” Dean said, his voice hard. “When things get too personal, you don’t actually talk to me. You’re just so damn formal. Just _talk_ to me.”

Cas’ brow furrowed. He’d never realized that was something he did. “I’m sorry,” he said, trying to rework the question he’d just asked. “Dean, I can’t give you what you’ve had. This,” he gestured to the house around them, “is all I can give you. Maybe if… If I had…” Cas trailed off, shaking his head; it was useless to think of _maybe_ s.

“But _this is_ enough,” Dean said, the anger melting off his features. He stepped closer to Cas uncertainly, not sure what he could say to make Cas understand. “Look at everything you’ve been through, and you’re still here. Just… Just stay alive, Cas. That’s all I need. _That_ would be enough.” He reached out to Cas with one hand, and relaxed marginally when Cas took it. “I won’t pretend I know what you’re going through, but I’m not afraid of it. I know what I got myself into. Just, let me stay? Let me be a part of it, whatever ‘it’ is.”

Cas stepped forward and closed the space between them, wrapping Dean in a hug. He felt Dean relax against him. “What did I do to deserve you?” Cas asked quietly.

“Something horrible, I’m sure,” Dean replied, his voice muffled against Cas’ shirt.

“Don’t talk like that,” Cas said, tightening his grip on Dean for just a moment. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

They stood like that for a long time, reacquainting themselves with being close to each other.

“Cas?” Dean finally asked. He pulled back just far enough that he could see Cas’ face.

“What is it?” Cas asked, suddenly worried again.

Dean’s face broke into a grin. “We’re going to have a baby.”

Cas laughed, and then he couldn’t help himself and he kissed his mate. And then Dean was kissing him back and Cas’ chest ached with how much he had missed Dean. How had he not realized how badly he needed to be home?

Dean was the one who broke the kiss a minute or so later, pressing Cas away with a hand on his chest. “I was just about done making dinner,” he said, “if you want some.”

Cas chuckled at how normal the question sounded. “I’d like that,” he said with a nod.

With all the cold, bland meals Cas had eaten during the war, when he had eaten at all, he would have praised Dean’s cooking even if it had tasted like wood shavings. Thankfully, he didn’t have to pretend to genuinely enjoy the meal.

When they had finished their supper and cleaned up their mess, Dean and Cas made their way upstairs, blowing out candles as they went. Cas carried his footlocker carefully, so it wouldn’t bump into anything on the way up. He dug through it while Dean was changing, and he found his nightclothes easily, even in the dark room. He changed quickly before climbing into bed with Dean, who immediately burrowed close to Cas, resting his head on Cas’ chest. Dean traced his hands over Cas’ torso, re-familiarizing himself with the panes of muscle and the maze of faded scars.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” Dean asked after a few minutes had passed in silence.

“General Singer gave me my orders to leave this morning,” Cas said evenly.

Dean’s brow furrowed and he propped himself up on his elbow so he could see Cas’ face in the dim light from the moon and stars outside. “When this morning?” he asked, wondering how Cas had managed to make the trip in only a day.

“Around dawn,” Cas replied, meeting Dean’s gaze. “I didn’t have much to pack, so I left not long after that with one of the supply wagons.”

Dean reached out absentmindedly to brush Cas’ hair away from his forehead. “What happened that he sent you away now?”

“General Singer and I had a…disagreement about General Lee,” Cas said carefully. “Lee was injured, and I wanted to take over his command. I think the General remembered your letter,” he added. “He mentioned you.”

“Really?” Dean asked. He seemed pleased that his letter had had some effect.

Cas nodded. “And Sam says hi,” he added with a slight smile.

Dean laughed quietly, laying down again and resting his head on Cas’ shoulder. “You’ve been keeping an eye on him?”

Cas shrugged, an awkward gesture in their current position. “He can take care of himself,” he said.

“Good,” Dean said, snuggling closer to Cas’ side. “I like having you here with me.”

“And I like being here with you,” Cas said, shifting slightly so he could press a kiss to Dean’s forehead. Dean’s breathing evened out in sleep a few minutes later, but Cas knew it would be a long time before he himself fell asleep, despite how tired he was; he was used to the sounds of a hundred other people around him, and the silence of the house had his senses on high alert. There were no stray gunshots, no footsteps, no mumbling or talking. The bed was too comfortable, too clean. Cas took a deep breath, taking in the smell of his house and his mate, content in sleep beside him. He closed his eyes and tried not to let the future worry him too much.

*~*~*~*~*

Five days after Cas arrived home, he was working in the garden when his skin started to feel uncomfortably hot, almost itchy. It had been so long since he’d had a proper rut that he thought at first he must be having an allergic reaction to something. He tried to ignore it, but it wasn’t long until he realized what was actually going on.

Alphas usually had a rut three or four times a year, but the stress of fighting in a war and the deplorable conditions they often found themselves in put so much pressure on their systems that the soldiers often didn’t go into rut at all. Sometimes they had flashes that would put them out of commission for a few hours, maybe a day, but almost never an actual rut. The last time Cas remembered going through a full rut was more than four years prior, before he’d joined the New York Militia in 1776.

Cas stood carefully, a shiver running through him. He vaguely remembered his last rut, alone in his room in the boarding house where he’d lived while going to school. He had resigned himself to going up to his room alone when he walked back into the kitchen and caught sight of Dean wiping off the counters. Dean’s scent seemed to be the only thing Cas was capable of focusing on, but he forced himself to think clearly.

Dean glanced up before Cas had a chance to say anything, a startled look on his face. He looked uncertain, and Cas remembered that Dean wouldn’t have had any experience with an Alpha in rut (or any pleasant experience, at the very least). Still, Dean stepped forward and took Cas’ hand in his.

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand, every instinct he had telling him to drag Dean up to the bedroom if he had to. But he made himself stand still. “You don’t have to do this Dean,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm.

“You’re my Alpha, Cas,” Dean said, visibly relaxing at the fact that Cas wasn’t crowding him. “I want to take care of you.”

Cas ground his teeth together as another wave of arousal hit him. “Are you sure?” he asked. He felt almost drunk on his rut and Dean’s scent.

By way of answer, Dean closed the distance between them and kissed Cas as carefully as he could. He felt Cas shudder under his touch, and he was quick to lead Cas up the stairs and to their bedroom.

Cas walked so close behind Dean that there almost wasn’t any space between them, and when he kicked the bedroom door closed behind them, he had a hand around Dean’s waist from behind. He nuzzled into the back of Dean’s neck, taking in as much of Dean’s scent as he could. He nipped at the mating bite where Dean’s neck and shoulder met, and Dean shivered under him, the smell of slick suddenly in the air.

Cas growled low in his throat and turned Dean around, kissing him hungrily and pressing close so Dean was backing up until his legs hit the bed and he sat.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Cas managed to ask between kissing and undressing.

“I’m sure,” Dean said, not a trace of anxiety in his voice. His hands were fumbling with the hem of his shirt, finally managing to get a hold of it and pull the article over his head. He laughed softly when Cas pushed him onto his back and almost manhandled him to the middle of the bed.

The last time Dean had been around an Alpha in rut, it had been at a dinner party his parents had hosted, and the Alpha in question had immediately tried to get close to Dean, growling at other guests and shoving his way through the crowd. It remained the only time John Winchester had physically stopped anyone from getting into Dean’s space.

When Cas had come in from the garden, Dean’s mind had, rather quickly, gone back to that night. But Cas was his mate, and he was supposed to take care of his mate, wasn’t he? And Cas hadn’t been like that other Alpha, though that didn’t surprise Dean; nothing about Cas had ever been like other Alphas. Cas was simply Cas – all control and concern. And Dean had found he still trusted Cas explicitly, even in the middle of a rut. So when Cas touched him, instead of trying to get away, Dean moved into the touch, answering with his own contact.

Dean’s hands wandered over Cas’ bare back as Cas hovered above him, both of them having finally removed their clothing. Dean was already ready, but he could tell Cas was still holding back, trying not to do too much too fast. “Come on Cas,” Dean whispered between kisses. He drew his knees up, further than they already were, in invitation.

Cas groaned at the scent of slick, allowing his instincts to take over. It didn’t take long for his knot to catch, and then the room was silent, save for their heavy breathing. Cas buried his nose in Dean’s neck and inhaled deeply as he calmed down, one of his hands still tangled in Dean’s hair.

“Better?” Dean teased. He shifted slightly and let himself be proud of the noise he drew from Cas – somewhere between a groan and a chuckle.

“Better,” Cas confirmed. “For now.” He shifted so they were in a more comfortable position and wrapped his arms around Dean. “Thank you.”

“You’re my mate,” Dean said simply, nuzzling into Cas’ shoulder.

“I love you,” Cas said, rubbing one hand over Dean’s back.

Dean grinned against Cas’ shoulder, pressing a kiss there.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas’ rut lasted for three days; at the end of it, he took Dean into Manhattan for dinner.

There seemed to be a bubble of inactivity around Manhattan. The war carried on in New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and elsewhere, but in New York City there was an uneasy peace, with both sides stubbornly occupying their own sections of the city and refusing to give up any ground. With the majority of the fighting being further to the southwest, not many shots were fired in the city.

Dean would have been nervous going so far into the city by himself; with the frenzy of the war and soldiers stationed all over the city, it wasn’t safe for Omegas, or even Beta women at times, to venture out alone, though many were forced to. Dean was thankful that he almost never had to hazard a trip into the city itself. However, with Cas beside him, Dean didn’t have to worry about anyone bothering him; it was one thing to wear an Alpha’s bite, but another thing entirely to have that Alpha escort him through the crowds of people. Alphas and Betas didn’t stop eyeing him just because he was taken, but they were certain to leave him alone.

The tavern was at least clean. The food smelled delicious, and the table that Cas was able to commandeer was at least semi-private. The air was warm in the early autumn evening, even with all the windows open.

Throughout dinner, Dean experimented with being openly affectionate as Cas had been at the wedding; he had found it was something he enjoyed, but wasn’t used to. He would take Cas’ hand whenever he could. They were sitting at adjacent sides of the table, and he would lean over to bump Cas’ shoulder with his own. Cas, for his part, would reciprocate when it was appropriate, encouraging Dean whenever he could; he didn’t want Dean to continue to hide himself away as he’d been forced to do.

Once, Cas caught another Alpha watching Dean disapprovingly; it wasn’t common practice, or even usually acceptable, for an Omega to acknowledge an Alpha or a Beta as an equal to be affectionate with, even between mated couples. While Cas was certainly aware of how Omegas were expected to behave, he gladly refused to accept the standard and gave the other Alpha a look that could freeze the Hudson until she turned away with a look of thinly veiled disgust.

Unfortunately, she didn’t turn fast enough, and Dean caught the look she’d been leveling at him. His mood immediately deflated, and he removed his hand from where it had been resting on Cas’ arm.

“Sorry,” Dean said, looking down at his meal with hunched shoulders.

“Don’t be,” Cas said gently. He took Dean’s hand in his and stroked his thumb across the back of it. He offered a small smile when Dean glanced up at him. “You don’t need to be sorry. Everyone else can find somewhere else if they’re uncomfortable.”

Dean’s lips twitched back into a small smile, but he didn’t adjust his posture.

Cas leaned over to kiss his mate’s temple. He rested his forehead against the side of Dean’s head for a moment, and he could smell the disgust from the Alpha a few tables away. He laughed quietly when the Alpha got up to leave. “You see?” Cas asked, drawing back again. “They’ll go away.”

“Only because you’re here,” Dean said quietly.

Cas sighed. “Well, I am here,” he said, squeezing Dean’s hand. “Would you mind continuing with what you were telling me?”

Dean took a breath to steady himself and nodded. As he spoke, he slowly relaxed again. He continued to look around nervously, but he trusted Cas’ presence to keep others away from them. They were left alone for the rest of the night.

As the evening progressed, the crowd in the tavern thinned. Some left quietly while others left with loud laughs and a cloud of alcohol fumes. Cas was just thinking it was time they leave when he spotted a familiar figure walking out, cackling loudly with a couple of redcoats.

“Kevin?” Cas asked loudly.

The group of three paused, a look of confusion settling over each of their faces.

“’Ey, you know ‘im?” one of the redcoats asked, nudging Kevin in the ribs.

“Not sure,” Kevin said, squinting over at Cas and swaying on his feet. He glanced at his companions for a moment. “I’ll take care of this. You go on ahead.”

The redcoats hesitated for a moment, but headed out the door all the same. One of them continued with whatever he’d been saying, as if they hadn’t been interrupted at all.

“Kevin, _what_ are you doing?” Cas asked as the Beta approached. He sniffed the air when Kevin stopped beside him. “And how many drinks have you had that you think it’s a good idea to be around them?”

“Not as many as they have,” Kevin replied, his unsteady posture from a moment before having evaporated. He glanced around and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “They talk a lot when they’re drunk.”

Dean blinked at him. “You’re getting information?” he asked, his voice hushed.

One side of Kevin’s mouth turned up slyly. “I have to go,” he said. “Good to see you’re still around, Cas.” When he turned away from them, he shook himself and stumbled toward the door.

Dean glanced over at Cas, who was staring curiously after Kevin. He touched Cas’ forearm cautiously. “Cas?”

Cas snapped back to reality in an instant and turned his attention back to Dean, his expression softening. “Ready to go home?” he asked. When Dean nodded, Cas stood and offered his hand, which Dean took readily.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Guns and Ships  
> History Has Its Eyes On You

Charlie ran a hand through her hair, grimy from a day and a half on the battlefield without a break. She managed to make it over to General Singer’s quarters without passing out though, and she was willing to call that another small victory.

In her few short weeks in command, she had accumulated a string of victories that kept the British moving and on their toes. She was relentless, using all of her resources as efficiently as she could and not giving her adversaries any leeway. She ended up chasing the British even further south, through Pennsylvania and into Maryland. But even with the recent victories, the colonies were still looking at a loss long term if they didn’t make major strides – and soon.

“You wanted to see me, General?” Charlie asked when she entered, not even bothering with a correct greeting in her exhausted state.

Bobby nodded, gesturing at the seat across from his desk for Charlie to have a seat. “For once Congress has decided to listen to what I have to say,” Bobby said, pulling a snort from Charlie. “They are sending representatives to France to negotiate a treaty. I want you to go with them.”

Charlie thought about that for a moment. She remembered when she had left France to cross the Atlantic, and it hadn’t been on the best of terms. She was a part of the aristocracy in France, and had tried to motivate the King to intervene in the colonies all the way back in 1774. When the monarchy had refused to step in, Charlie had taken matters into her own hands, buying a ship in secret and leaving the harbor in the dead of night so as not to be caught and returned to the King.

To see the King again, and this time negotiating from a strategic standpoint with military experience backing her up, would be different to say the least. She would have leverage this time, weight behind her words.

And while she was in France, she could take some time, an hour even, to visit Gilda; it had been far too long since they’d seen each other.

“I would be honored, General,” Charlie said with a slight smile.

“Good,” Bobby said. He grabbed a folded sheet of paper off his desk and handed it to Charlie. “The ship leaves for France in three days.”

“I will leave for the harbor first thing in the morning,” Charlie said, taking her travel orders and standing. “Thank you, General.”

“Good luck,” Bobby said.

*~*~*~*~*

Charlie was grateful she wasn’t one to get seasick. There were others on the trip who were not so lucky, and she did not envy them.

She was one to get restless, however, especially after being on the move with the military for so long. It didn’t help that they were only a couple days into the voyage before she went into rut and had to lock herself up in her chambers.

Being confined to a ship in the middle of the ocean made her skin itch, but she did her best to keep her irritation to herself so as not to start any fights with the others, who were no doubt also feeling the effects of confinement.

By the time the ship docked in France after seven weeks at sea, Charlie was beyond ready to scream. She had taken to pacing, and she could tell she was bothering the others, but she couldn’t be bothered to care anymore.

She disembarked with the Congressmen she was to accompany during the negotiations. They sent a messenger to the King to announce their arrival and request an audience before they rented horses at a livery in town and set out for Paris.

When they arrived at their inn a few days later, just after midday, they found a letter from the King waiting for them.

“He says he is expecting us Friday morning. Tomorrow,” Charlie read. She glanced up at her companions. “If you’ll excuse me, I have my own errands for the evening.” She didn’t wait for much of an answer before she was making her way outside and through the crowds.

The house she stopped in front of wasn’t very big, but it was cozy and homey, with a garden out front. The windows were open to allow the breeze inside, and the curtains were drifting lazily on the air currents. It wasn’t a house Charlie knew well, but it was one she was fond of nonetheless.

Charlie made her way up to the door, growing more excited with each step. By the time she let the brass knocker fall, she was practically vibrating. She managed to still herself when the door opened to reveal Gilda in a plain dress, her brown hair pulled away from her face.

Charlie wanted to say something, but before she could get her brain and her mouth to agree on anything good enough to be spoken aloud, Gilda surged forward and wrapped her arms around Charlie’s shoulders, her face buried against Charlie’s neck. Charlie was helpless to do anything but reciprocate.

“I didn’t know if you would have time for me,” Gilda finally said, pulling back.

“I would make time if I didn’t have it,” Charlie said fondly. When most people heard of arranged marriages among nobility, they, understandably, thought in terms of politics and alliances. That had been the reason for the arrangement between Charlie and Gilda, but the two had grown to love each other anyway.

“Come in, please,” Gilda said, stepping aside to allow Charlie to enter. “I will ask mother to set another place at the table.”

Charlie had come prepared to stay for just a few hours. She would have to be up early the next day, and a visit with the King warranted a good night’s rest, but when she got to talking with Gilda and her family, she lost track of time. She didn’t end up back at the inn until only a few hours before she was supposed to wake up. Though, if anyone were to ask her, she would have told them it had been worth it to see Gilda again.

*~*~*~*~*

The weeks passed slowly. Cas found work with a trading company, keeping track of finances and shipments. It was the same as the work he’d been doing in the Caribbean, and he settled back into a trading routine quite easily.

He hated every second of it.

He wasn’t helping where he wanted to help, and he couldn’t stand to see the Omegas of all shapes and sizes who were forced to work the docks in all weather. He was kind to them, and confronted their masters when he saw them, but he knew he wasn’t in a powerful enough position to actually stop anything.

Cas had wanted to get back to school, to finish what he’d started and hopefully find an alternate way to get where he wanted, but there was no way he could find time to attend his classes and still have enough money to make ends meet. If he had still been living on his own, he would have gone back to school in a heartbeat, making whatever sacrifices were necessary. But with Dean, and with a pup on the way, Cas wasn’t willing to make such drastic compromises. Not yet.

Fall gave way to winter, and the air began to freeze. They started to keep the windows closed even during the day to keep the chill out. Cas had never been bothered much by changes in temperature, but he didn’t protest when Dean started to cuddle up to him more on colder nights, which became more frequent as the weeks went on.

“Do you wish you were still out there?” Dean asked one night. He was facing away from Cas, his back pressed against Cas’ chest with one of Cas’ arms draped over his side. These were the times when he felt most comfortable asking questions – when it was dark, and he couldn’t see Cas’ face.

Cas was quiet, considering. He ran his hand over Dean’s belly soothingly. “Sometimes I do,” he finally said. It was only a little lie; it wouldn’t hurt anyone. “It would be easier to help like I want to if I was out there, but I’m glad to be here with you. I would hate to miss being here with you, when our family is just starting,” he added, and at least that was the truth.

Dean thought about that, his hand coming to rest on top of Cas’ on his belly. He could tell Cas wasn’t being entirely truthful, though he didn’t want to think about Cas wanting to be in the middle of a war rather than at home. With a sigh, Dean turned over so he could look Cas in the eyes in the dim light from the window. “I’m sorry I asked Bobby to send you home,” he said. He could feel his heart start to beat faster at the thought of what Cas’ answer might be.

Cas blinked at him, caught off guard. “Don’t be,” he said.

“But you’d rather be fighting,” Dean said, his words feeling thick on his tongue.

“Irrelevant,” Cas said, and Dean noticed that he didn’t deny the statement. “You needed me here, and now I’m here. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably. There was more he wanted to say – there was always more he wanted to say – but he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it. He still wasn’t used to talking to an Alpha who would tell him that what he wanted wasn’t immaterial.

“Dean,” Cas said, as if he’d heard Dean’s unspoken words. He reached up to cup Dean’s cheek as he spoke. “I know I said that what I want would be easier if I was fighting, but that doesn’t mean that what I want is impossible if I’m here.” Cas offered a small smile. “I can compromise.”

Dean nodded and looked away, unsure how to react. He promised himself that one day he wouldn’t be so worried about what he wanted to say.

“We should get some sleep,” Cas said after a while.

“’M not tired,” Dean mumbled, scooting closer to Cas.

“Okay,” Cas said, huffing a laugh. “What would you like to do?”

Dean shrugged with the shoulder that wasn’t bearing his weight. Then he shifted suddenly and moved a hand between them to rub over his abdomen.

“Everything okay?” Cas asked, suddenly worried.

Dean nodded. “He’s kicking me,” he said.

Cas smiled at his mate. “Well he needs a name so we can properly ask him to stop.”

Dean couldn’t help the smile on his face, but he rolled his eyes all the same. “I guess I’m supposed to want to name him after my father, right?”

“Never,” Cas said with a decided shake of his head. “Nor mine. Name him whatever you want to.”

Dean really hadn’t given the subject much thought, and so had no idea what he might want to name his pup. “I don’t know,” he said, shifting again.

“Well, there isn’t any rush,” Cas said, moving a hand down to rest over Dean’s. It had only been in the past few days that they could feel the pup kicking, and it terrified him to feel just how much his life was changing.

*~*~*~*~*

Negotiations lasted for a week of back-and-forth, and Charlie could only imagine how much longer they would have lasted if she hadn’t started writing to different government officials several months before.

The treaty came down to France supplying troops and weapons in exchange for aid from the newly formed United States in the future. Charlie wasn’t so interested in the specifics – she was just glad the treaty had finally been drafted and signed.

She let the Congressmen deal with the formalities and got to work writing a quick letter to General Singer. It was short and to the point, with the information for where they’d be docking when they returned from France, as well as a promise to send another letter as soon as they arrived. She had it sent out as soon as she could. The ship she’d be traveling back to America on wasn’t leaving for another few days, but she still worried that the letter wouldn’t reach the General before she returned.

It was only mid-morning, so Charlie was quick to get to Gilda’s. She managed to arrive just as the family was finishing with loading their belongings into a carriage to head south for the winter. “Gilda!” she called.

Gilda glanced up, her brown curls drifting around her face in the breeze. She smiled when she recognized who was calling for her. “Charlie,” she said, stepping away from the carriage and toward the approaching figure. “You made it.”

Charlie grinned. “We finished just in time,” she said, gathering Gilda into her arms. “I had to see you off.”

Gilda sighed against Charlie, relaxing into the embrace for a moment before she pulled away. “I need to be going.”

“Of course,” Charlie replied. “Hopefully I’ll be home in the next year.”

“Until then, my love,” Gilda said. “Don’t forget to write.”

“I could never forget you,” Charlie said with a smile.

*~*~*~*~*

Charlie had been gone for almost two months, and Bobby was running out of options. He had no idea how negotiations were going, or if they had even started. Hell, depending on the weather, Charlie might not have even arrived in France yet.

Bobby had more soldiers than he had had previously (the recent victories had helped turn the public more in favor of the endeavor), but he knew that if the treaty with France fell through, they wouldn’t have the numbers to compete.

“Bobby,” someone said from the entryway.

Bobby glanced up to find Jody standing in front of him, somehow just the same as she’d always been, despite the changing landscape of the war. She was holding a letter out to him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Jody said with a shrug, already turning to leave. “Came in from Philadelphia. I assume it’s from Congress.”

“Don’t leave yet,” Bobby said quickly, before she could go. “I may need you.” Jody paused by the exit, standing with her arms crossed casually as Bobby quickly opened the letter and skimmed it, clearly searching for something specific.

“Anything good?” Jody asked. She didn’t like being still so long when she had a list of tasks to complete before sundown, and her foot had started to tap with restless energy.

Bobby breathed a relieved sigh when he reached the end of the letter. “Very good,” he said. “Get me Sam Winchester. He’s going to South Carolina.”

“Yes, sir,” Jody said, grumbling something about being short-staffed as she left.

While he waited, Bobby wrote down the names contained in the letter, and where those people could be reached. He kept his head down when Sam entered a few minutes later. “You know that plan you’ve been proposing to me for the last two years?”

Sam had to think for a moment, caught off guard by the lack of greeting. He gave Bobby a curious look, though Bobby still hadn’t looked up at him. “About recruiting more Beta and Omega soldiers?” he asked. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Good,” Bobby said, finally finishing with his writing. He glanced up at Sam and held the paper out to him. “Congress finally debated the proposal, and the delegates from South Carolina have agreed.”

“You’re kidding,” Sam said, almost snatching the paper from Bobby’s outstretched hand to read it. “ _South Carolina_?”

“No telling if they’ll actually go through with it,” Bobby pointed out, “but they sent word of their decision back home.” He paused for a moment, watching Sam’s reaction. “I want you to head down and help get these troops together for the campaign further south.”

Sam’s head snapped up so fast Bobby thought he might have given himself whiplash. “Me? Why me?”

“It’s your proposal,” Bobby pointed out, “and you’ve been a good soldier. Why, don’t want to do it? I can find someone–”

“No no, I want to,” Sam said quickly.

“Good,” Bobby said. “Take Leo and Innias with you.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said, practically bouncing in his excitement.

“Well, get going,” Bobby said. “The sooner we get reinforcements, the better.”

Sam gave a quick salute before he turned and ran out through the camp in search of Leo and Innias.

*~*~*~*~*

If Charlie wasn’t going to have to take a ship back to France after the war ended, she would have sworn off ever traveling over the Atlantic again. The seas had been far rougher on the return journey to America, and even she had begun to feel seasick.

She’d lost track of how long they’d been at sea, but she was sure it had been longer than nine weeks. If there was any consolation, it was that she’d traveled back with an assortment of French Naval vessels in tow, and they hadn’t lost any ships on the voyage.

Bobby was waiting when the ships pulled into the harbor, and Charlie wondered just how efficient his spy network was that they could spot the French ships coming in and get the information to Bobby fast enough for him to hightail it in time to meet them.

“Good to see you back,” Bobby said as Charlie approached him.

“Good to be back,” Charlie said, unsteady on her legs after being on a rocking deck for more than two months. She glanced behind her and saw the French Naval commander approaching. “This is Balthazar. He commands the French fleet.”

“And this must be General Singer,” Balthazar said, holding out a hand for Bobby to shake.

“The one and only,” Bobby said, shaking Balthazar’s hand quickly. He turned and gestured for them to follow him. “I’ll show you what I have.”

Bobby led them to an inn in town where it appeared he’d been staying. There were maps strewn across the desk in his room, each marked with an assortment of words and symbols.

While Bobby explained how the fighting had been going in the almost five months since Charlie had been gone, Charlie pored over the maps with Balthazar.

“There,” Charlie said suddenly, jabbing at one point on the map.

“There?” Bobby asked, leaning over the map to see where Charlie was pointing. He didn’t even bother mentioning that she’d interrupted him; he was sure she’d only been half paying attention anyway.

“Yorktown,” Charlie said, reading the name neatly printed there. “We can end this war at Yorktown.”

Bobby and Balthazar studied the map around Yorktown. The fighting had been moving steadily south, and Yorktown wouldn’t be too much of a detour.

“Chase them to Yorktown,” Charlie was saying, half to herself. “We can wait them out, if their supplies can’t get to them.” She glanced up at Balthazar. “You will need to keep the British Navy out of Chesapeake Bay.”

“Consider it done,” Balthazar said.

Charlie went back to staring at the map, already working out what her strategy might be. Then she paused, her hand still poised over the map. “We’ll need someone else,” she said, straightening up to look at Bobby.

Bobby raised an inquiring eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Castiel,” Charlie said. “You have said yourself that he can outthink just about anyone.”

“I know,” Bobby said. The mission Cas had led to take the cannons from the British all those years ago was evidence enough of Cas’ ability to get one over on their adversaries, even without the missions he’d orchestrated to cut off and redirect enemy supply lines. If Bobby was being honest, he was sure Cas was at least as good at strategy as he was, though he was likely better.

“He has the experience,” Charlie added. “No one would question his judgment.”

“I know,” Bobby repeated, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll get a letter out tonight. For now, we need to regroup and get organized.” He scrubbed the weariness from his face and shook his head to clear it. “Balthazar, I’m going to need to know _exactly_ what you have with you.”

*~*~*~*~*

Cas was grateful for the warmth of the house as he shook out of his overcoat after work. There was a fire burning in the fireplace in the den, and Cas crossed to it to warm his hands before continuing on his way to the kitchen.

Dean had the table set for dinner and was just setting the meal on the table when Cas entered.

“Let me help you with that,” Cas said, crossing the room to his mate.

“I can get it Cas,” Dean said, turning to keep Cas from grabbing the plate from him. “I’m pregnant, not helpless.”

“I know,” Cas said. Dean had been saying that since Cas had started trying to help more about two months prior, and Cas had thus far been inclined to allow Dean his autonomy. “I still want to help.”

Dean waved off Cas’ concern. “I’m okay. Really.” He wouldn’t admit how much he enjoyed Cas’ fussing over him all through their dinner conversation.

“Will you let me help you clean up?” Cas asked when they’d eaten their fill.

Dean sighed dramatically. “I guess,” he said, one side of his mouth quirked into a smile.

They cleared the table in comfortable silence, occasionally bumping shoulders affectionately as they cleaned the dishes.

“Oh, a letter came for you,” Dean said as he dried his hands, spying the letter further down the counter. He grabbed the item in question and handed it over, watching Cas while he rubbed a hand over his belly.

“It’s from General Singer,” Cas said curiously. He skimmed it quickly, unable to keep the surprise off his face.

“What’s it say?” Dean asked, suddenly worried. He reached out for Cas and caught hold of his arm.

Cas’ eyes flew over the page again. _I know that we can win._ “He needs me back,” he said, dumbfounded. He looked up at Dean, suddenly unsure of whether he should leave. He knew he wanted to, knew the General wouldn’t ask him back if it wasn’t serious, but he also knew that if Dean asked him to stay, he’d be powerless to leave. _I have soldiers waiting for your command._ “He wants to give me a command. And he says he knows we can win the war.”

Something in Dean’s expression softened, and it looked like a mix of fondness and disappointment. “They’ll win if you’re there,” he said.

Cas tried not to let his excitement show too much. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” he promised, crossing the space to Dean and wrapping his arms around his mate.

Later that night, with Dean pressed against his side, Cas couldn’t sleep. He was too eager to get things sorted and be on his way. He was too terrified of not coming back. He kept thinking of the General’s letter. _I know that greatness lies in you, but remember that from here on in, history has its eyes on you._

Cas wanted history to acknowledge him, but it was more than that. If he could remain anonymous and have his ideals carried through, he would have. But he couldn’t have change and anonymity, so he’d settle for change.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Yorktown (The World Turned Upside Down)  
> What Comes Next?

**1781**

“Take care of yourself,” Dean said, his arms tight around Cas.

“I will,” Cas promised. He had tried to put Dean at ease in the last couple of days as he’d made preparations to leave, but he could still smell the distress on his mate. It worried him. “I’m more concerned about you.”

Dean laughed softly. “Jo’s staying here with me until you get back,” he reminded him, pulling back slightly. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I will anyway,” Cas declared, and it made Dean smile.

“Just come back to us in one piece,” Dean said.

“I wouldn’t dream of coming back any differently,” Cas said. He gave Dean one last kiss before he finally pulled away.

Dean reached out to grab Cas’ arm. “Don’t stop writing,” he said, as if he thought Cas would.

“Every day, my dearest friend,” Cas promised with a small smile. He took Dean’s hand in his and kissed it before he turned to head down the walkway to where his horse was waiting, saddled and packed with the few necessities Cas would need in the coming weeks.

Dean watched Cas swing aboard his horse. Cas waved as he turned down the street, and Dean found himself waving back, one hand still cradling his belly. He knew he needed to stop stressing so much, that it wasn’t good for him or his pup, but he also knew that he wouldn’t be able to stop worrying until Cas was home safe with him again.

Dean stood at the door, his gaze trained on the end of the street long after Cas had disappeared, until he felt Jo’s hand on his arm.

“You’re going to catch your death out here,” she said, tugging on his arm until he relented and followed her inside.

“You don’t need to take care of me. I’ve been getting along just fine so far,” Dean said as he closed the door behind them. “And I’m older than you are, so really, I should be taking care of you.”

“I’m not taking care of you, I’m staying at your house to help out, so you might as well let me help out,” Jo countered. “And if me helping out includes making sure you don’t freeze, so be it.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.

“So what needs to be done today?” Jo asked.

Dean shrugged, making his way into the den and sitting heavily on the couch. “Nothing _needs_ to be done,” he said. At Jo’s curious, slightly concerned look, he added, “We’ve done a lot the last couple of days; there are a few minor things that can be done today, or we can wait and do them tomorrow.”

“Don’t put off until tomorrow that which you can do today,” Jo said, slightly chastising. She made her way across the room and sat beside him anyway.

Dean made a face. “Don’t quote things at me,” he said.

“Fine, fun subject,” Jo said, adopting a pensive expression. “What do you usually talk about for fun?”

“Anything?” Dean said. “I don’t know; we just talk.” He felt his pup kick at something, probably something important if discomfort was anything to go by, and he had to rearrange his entire position to find something comfortable.

“Have you decided on a name?” Jo asked, watching her brother.

Dean just shook his head, not meeting Jo’s eyes.

“Well, that’s not bad,” Jo said. “You still have a couple months, right?”

“Something like that,” Dean said fondly, rubbing a hand over his swollen abdomen.

*~*~*~*~*

When Cas rode into camp, he was greeted by several familiar faces, and several new faces.

“Jody!” he called when he saw her.

Jody was so intent on her work that she almost jumped when she heard her name. She turned abruptly, ready to reprimand whoever it was who had interrupted her. When she recognized who it was, however, she snorted. “You made it back,” she said.

“Nice to see you too Jody,” he said. “How’s the war?”

“War is hell, but of the two, war is worse. You know that,” Jody replied.

“I do,” Cas said with a nod. “Where’s Sam? I haven’t seen him.”

“On his way to South Carolina,” Jody said. “Not that I don’t like talking to you, Cas, but if that’s all, I need to get back to work.”

“Just one more thing,” Cas said. “Can you point me in the direction of the General?”

Jody gave him the directions quickly before she was back on her way.

It didn’t take long to get to Bobby’s tent, and when Cas arrived, he dismounted slowly, remembering their last encounter all too well.

When he went to enter, he nearly collided with Charlie.

“Cas!” Charlie exclaimed when she recognized him. She threw her arms around him without a second thought. “It is good to see you.”

“Good to see you too Charlie,” Cas said, patting her back awkwardly. She released him a moment later.

“When this is over you must tell me what you’ve been up to,” Charlie said, turning as if to leave.

“Where are you going?” Cas wondered.

“To my own troops,” Charlie replied.

“And after that?” Cas asked.

“Home, hopefully,” Charlie said, a sly smile on her face. “Do it all again.”

“We’ll be with you when you do.”

Charlie laughed. “’Til we meet again,” she said, turning on her heel and making her way through the camp to her mare.

Cas took a deep breath, more to make sure he didn’t say anything he regretted than to calm any nerves, and pushed the flap to Bobby’s tent aside. “General Singer, sir,” he said as he entered.

“It’s good to see you again boy,” Bobby said, standing to greet Cas. “I hope you’re rested and ready to get this thing over with.”

“I am,” Cas said. “Just tell me what needs to be done.”

Bobby nodded, gesturing for Cas to take a look at the maps that were laid out on the desk. “We need to chase them here,” he said, pointing at Yorktown and the surrounding areas on the map. “You’ll take your troops, along with two other squadrons, south of them,” he continued, sweeping his fingers across the map to indicate the path Cas should take. “They’ll be flanked by the rest of our troops,” Bobby said, pointing to where the plan had been marked.

Cas committed the plan to memory, studying the names of the officers of both sides as Bobby explained. “How do we know they don’t have ships to back them up in this fight?”

“We have a very effective spy working in New York,” Bobby said. “He works around a lot of the British officers and I haven’t gotten a bad piece of information from him yet.”

Cas’ brow furrowed thoughtfully, and then smoothed over again when he put the clues together. “Kevin?” he mouthed, afraid to ask it out loud in case someone might have been listening in on their conversation.

Bobby gave him a significant look, but didn’t otherwise acknowledge the question. “If we manage to get this right,” he said instead, “the war should be done in the next couple of weeks.”

“Do the people in town know what we’re driving in their direction?”

“We’ve sent a messenger ahead to inform them,” Bobby said. “Believe me, I don’t want any more casualties than absolutely necessary.”

Cas looked down at the maps briefly, making sure he had all the details filed away for later use, before he glanced back up at Bobby, as if he were waiting for something. When nothing came, he asked, “When are we leaving?”

“At dawn,” Bobby said. “You’d better get to your troops.”

Cas made his way to his soldiers as quickly as he could. They seemed to be expecting him, though they didn’t stand at attention or salute this close to the enemy.

After a quick headcount and the barest of introductions, Cas’ officers introduced themselves, and Cas was pleased to find Victor Henriksen among them. He didn’t know the others very well, but he got the sense that they could take orders and get their jobs done.

There wasn’t much point in setting up a tent for only a few hours rest, so Cas set his bedroll out under the stars instead. A mix of excitement and anxiety started to run through him as he stared at the sky, and it was a long time before he finally got to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas pushed his troops hard. He heard some grumbling over the pace, but for the most part his soldiers didn’t question his judgment. At least not to his face.

It didn’t take long to get where Cas needed to be, and he was quick to direct his troops east to cut off the British retreat and then back northeast to drive them to Yorktown.

Several skirmishes broke out on the way to the coast. Cas did his best to minimize casualties, but some things couldn’t be helped. He tried not to focus on the faces of those they left behind. He hoped they had had friends among the troops who would write to their families.

“So, how long do you think this is going to take?” Henriksen asked one morning, riding up beside Cas. When Cas gave him a confused look, he added, “It’s a joke, General.”

Cas nodded, but considered the question anyway. He had been wondering the same thing and had kept a count of how many days he had been gone. “Assuming their supplies are cut off when we reach Yorktown, this should only take as long as they can survive on what they have with them.”

“How long will that be, do you think?”

Cas shrugged. “Depends on how resourceful they are.”

“Let’s hope they aren’t,” Henriksen said.

Cas cracked a smile. “Yes, let’s.”

“General!” someone called, running up beside Cas’ horse. “General, we have Yorktown in sight.”

“Good,” Cas said, immediately back in fighting mode. “Any sign of our troops to the west?”

“They’re closing in, sir,” the aide replied.

“Glad to hear it,” Cas said, waving the aide away and back to his work. Cas watched him go; the aide couldn’t be more than fifteen, and he didn’t have any distinctive smell yet. Cas hated to think he hadn’t presented because he’d been involved with the war so long.

A moment passed in heavy silence before Henriksen asked, “This is it, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” Cas replied.

Henriksen nodded. “Then I guess we’ll see how it goes,” he said. He turned his horse back to where he’d come from.

Cas took a deep breath to steady himself. Already he could hear shots ringing out ahead of them. There were shouts too, followed by the dull _boom_ of a cannon. The troops were moving faster now, spurred on by the sounds of fighting. More gunfire. More shouting – sometimes it was orders, sometimes it was pain. Always in succession.

Before he was fully aware of what was going on, Cas found himself barking out orders and nudging his horse faster.

It wasn’t long before the first casualties fell, staining the battlefield red. Cas tried to look away after he found one too many soldiers broken and bloody on the ground. One, on his back close to the front, had a bayonet impaled through his gut, his hands still clutched around it as if he could yank it free. Another was slumped against a tree, and one might have believed she was only taking a nap if one didn’t notice the red stain on her chest, the blood on her lips.

When Cas made his way across his left flank, he saw Charlie and her troops, fighting as fiercely as his own. Charlie had a trail of blood down one side of her breeches, but she didn’t seem to be aware of it. He almost called out to her, but decided against it in favor of fixing a gap in his troops.

By sundown, the British had been well and truly trapped in Yorktown. Cas hoped Bobby’s messenger had arrived in time to evacuate the town; he hated to think what the ordinary citizens would be going through.

“A message, sir.”

Cas was grooming his horse in a rare moment of reprieve, and he turned at the sound of the voice, finding an aide standing behind him. “Yes?”

“We have word the French Navy has blocked the British from entering the bay,” the aide recited. “The British supply train has been cut off and taken for our own use.”

Cas took a deep breath. “So now all we can do is wait this out.”

“It appears that way, sir.”

Cas nodded. “Dismissed.” He watched the aide scurry away and disappear into the darkness, thinking about how close they were. If they could hold out just a few more weeks, maybe a few more days, this would all be over and they could go home and back to their lives. “We’ll be done before you know it,” Cas said, though he wasn’t sure to whom. He patted his horse’s neck absently, his mind already turning over plans for the next day.

He didn’t have much time to think, however, until another aide was rushing up to him to tell him that General Singer was having a meeting with his Commanding Officers and needed Cas asap.

It had been a long day and Cas could already feel the exhaustion seeping into his muscles, but he straightened himself up anyway on his way to Bobby’s hastily set-up headquarters.

Cas was the last to arrive, and as soon as he was inside, Bobby went into the agenda for the evening; at first they talked about dividing supplies of food and ammunition, but they quickly turned to different strategic attacks they could make on the besieged British. Without any siege weapons, they’d need to improvise, but they left the meeting with several ideas.

*~*~*~*~*

Three days into the siege, Cas made his move. He ordered his troops together in the middle of the night, the holes they might have left in the defense quickly filled by the ever thinning Patriot troops. (Thankfully, the British troops seemed to be thinning at least as quickly as the Patriots.)

“Unload your weapons,” Cas ordered, earning him more than a few confused looks. A little over half of the soldiers staring at him did as they were told, but others held their rifles to their chests in refusal. “Unload your weapons,” he repeated, more forcefully this time. He ignored the looks his soldiers gave him as they reluctantly followed their orders. “We’re going into town,” he explained. “We cannot let a stray gunshot give us away. The guns are useless in close combat, and that will even our odds.”

“And the bayonets?” someone asked.

Cas didn’t even bother to reprimand the soldier for speaking out of turn. “Easier, but not perfect,” he allowed. “You each have one as well. Use it.” He glanced over his troops one more time before he turned to lead them into town on foot. He was pleased that the soldiers were capable of being nearly silent as they advanced on the town.

Death had never frightened Castiel. He’d accepted at the beginning of the war that he could die. He had been okay with that. But as he led his troops nearer to Yorktown, he remembered Dean’s face when he’d said goodbye, and it made him think. He had something that he could die for, yes, but now he had someone to live for too.

Cas took a deep breath as they crossed into enemy lines, resolving to make it through this war and back to Dean. Back to their pup. Death wasn’t good enough anymore.

It was easy enough to surprise the British. Many of them were sleeping while they could, and Cas’ troops moved wordlessly through the night. However, it only took one honest mistake for someone to shout for backup, and then it was a frenzy.

For the first few precious moments, the British were caught off guard enough that they couldn’t coordinate themselves. In those moments Cas and his troops were relatively unharmed as the British dropped like flies around them.

No more than fifteen seconds later, the British had organized themselves and fought back with a vengeance. Cas saw his soldiers start to fall, some only injured and back on their feet in no time, but others falling and not getting up as blood pooled on the streets below them.

A fist to Cas’ side knocked him off balance. He managed to keep his footing and swipe his bayonet at his assailant, feeling a bit of resistance but not enough. He caught his footing in time to avoid the next swing and drive his bayonet into his attacker. It had been a long time since he’d seen someone fall so close to him, and the stench of blood made his stomach turn over. He was quick to pull his blade free and move on.

An indeterminate amount of time later, Cas felt a sting in his side. He rounded on the one responsible, cutting him with his bayonet before he could think. Someone else drove a blade through the man’s back before Cas could react.

“You okay?”

Cas looked up at the Beta who had spoken. “I’ll be fine.”

The Beta gave him a skeptical look, but went on his way. Cas pressed a hand to his side, ignoring the way his hand slid over his skin.

It was still dark, but dawn was nearing and Cas knew that with daylight came gunfire, and he didn’t want to be on the wrong side of his own lines when that happened. It was risky to call a retreat and mark himself as the commander, but Cas did so anyway, moving rapidly as he heard the order move through the ranks. At least two enemy soldiers started to chase him, but he was faster, ducking in one direction so quickly that they stumbled over themselves to try to keep up. The stumble was long enough for Cas’ own men to catch them, putting an end to the chase.

Cas was panting by the time he was safer behind his own lines, and his shirt was soaked with blood and sweat. The wound on his side was throbbing, and his hand was now well and truly coated with his own blood. His complexion had paled considerably, and he stared at the growing red stain on his shirt in disbelief. Somewhere off to his left (it sounded very far away) he was aware of someone calling for a medic. He felt unsteady on his feet, but he didn’t stumble when someone, probably Tessa, led him to the hospital tent.

“Have a seat,” Tessa said gently.

Cas stared at her, feeling his mind finally snap back to the present. “I’m fine,” he said.

“You’re bleeding,” Tessa countered.

“I’m fighting a war. Of course I’m bleeding,” Cas said.

“Will you at least let me stitch it before you go get yourself killed?” Tessa asked.

Cas sighed and sat. “Fine.” He removed his shirt obediently, wiping his bloody hand on the ruined cotton.

“You might want to bite down on something,” Tessa suggested, rummaging through her supplies to find what she needed.

Cas eyed the bullet that was offered to him, not pleased with the idea of biting it. When he noticed what Tessa had in her hand, he reached out for it instead. “I’ll take a drink of that,” he said.

Tessa raised an eyebrow at him, but handed the alcohol over anyway.

Cas took a long swig before he handed it back. “Patch me up quickly,” he said. “I need to get back out there.”

Tessa wanted to mention that he’d lost so much blood that he’d probably be unconscious in the next few minutes, but she decided to let him figure that out on his own. She went to work cleaning the wound instead, not reacting to his slight wincing. She’d patched up worse than this, and at least Castiel didn’t react beyond a twitch here and there. The last time Tessa had had to stitch someone closed, they’d managed to get a good hit in on her shoulder before someone properly restrained them.

To everyone’s surprise but his own, Cas was still conscious and determined to get back on the battlefield when Tessa had finished stitching and bandaging his side.

“You need to rest,” Tessa insisted.

“I’ll rest when I get back home,” Cas said, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. The room spun around him, but he managed to stay upright.

“I can handle the troops for a day,” Henriksen said.

Cas turned around so quickly he almost knocked himself over, but he managed to focus on Henriksen. “I didn’t hear you come in,” he said.

“That’s because I came in with you, jackass,” Henriksen said. Cas thought he sounded a little too amused for the situation at hand. “You take the day, I’ll keep everything under control until you’re back tomorrow.”

Cas wanted to be annoyed, but he found he didn’t have the energy. He shifted his weight a little too suddenly and stumbled forward half a step. He grumbled and tried to shake the help away when it was offered, but he no longer had the strength to hold himself. More than a little irritated, he allowed himself to be led back to his tent, where someone offered him water and a bit of bread before he slumped to the ground in a dreamless sleep.

*~*~*~*~*

It was a pleasant day, especially for early March. It was bright and sunny outside, and the weather was warmer than it had been, though it still wasn’t warm enough to open the windows in the house.

Dean lounged in the den in front of the fire. Jo had insisted on doing the rest of the day’s chores after lunch, despite her brother’s protests, and so Dean found himself staring at one of the few books in the house, not quite reading what was printed on the pages.

When there was a knock on the door, Dean immediately volunteered to get it. He heard Jo laugh at him from the kitchen, but he didn’t care.

“’S this the Novak residence?” the young Beta at the door asked.

“Sure is,” Dean replied, taking the letters that were offered to him. “Have a nice day.”

The Beta nodded and turned on his heel to head back down the walkway.

“I didn’t know you’d changed your name,” Jo said curiously, walking up behind Dean.

“I didn’t,” Dean said, shutting the door and making his way back to the den. “Cas is the Alpha, so technically it’s his house.”

“Fucking Alphas,” Jo said, making a face. She followed Dean into the den and took a seat across from him. “Wait, so is the pup going to have two last names?”

Dean shook his head. “We decided to choose one, and I didn’t want to use Dad’s name, so his last name will be Novak.”

Jo nodded and eyed the letters curiously. “Who’re those from?”

“Two from Cas,” Dean said, flipping through the letters. After receiving Cas’ letter saying he had been injured, Dean hadn’t been able to stop worrying, though it made him feel better to know Cas was at least still capable of writing to him. “And one from Sam,” he added. Sam would write letters every couple of months, like clockwork, with long updates on how he had been doing in the time since his last letter. This letter, however, was very thin.

“What does Sam say?” Jo asked.

Dean tore the letter open carefully. He already knew from Cas that Sam had been sent to South Carolina, though Cas hadn’t been sure what for. “’I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the Congressmen from South Carolina have agreed to our proposal to recruit more Beta and Omega soldiers,’” Dean read aloud, stuttering over the last few words. He glanced up at Jo, who was sitting very straight at the edge of her seat, leaning forward eagerly.

“Well? What else does it say?” Jo asked when Dean had been silent too long.

Dean shook himself and looked back down at the letter, skimming now. “He says he was appointed to get the troops together and trained.”

If Jo were the kind of person who squealed with delight, she would have. Instead, she grinned proudly and encouraged Dean to read more.

“He’s made it to Columbia,” Dean continued, “and he’s hopeful about the direction they’re headed.”

“Can I see?” Jo asked, holding out her hand for the letter.

Dean handed it over, watching his sister’s face as she read it. She smiled wider as her eyes scanned the page.

“I wonder if dad knows,” Jo said.

Dean barked a laugh. “I hope he does,” he said. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell him.”

“I hope Sam wrote to him too,” Jo agreed. “I can only imagine the reaction.”

Dean shook his head. He grabbed one of Cas’ letters and opened it while Jo reread Sam’s letter.

*~*~*~*~*

For four days after Cas was injured, the fighting continued. Good to his word, Cas was back up and fighting after only a day off, though he was still a little wobbly.

“You can take another day,” Henriksen had said when Cas had walked out to relieve him of his command. “No one would blame you.”

“If everyone else is going to fight for their lives, then so am I.”

Cas didn’t lead any more charges into Yorktown, though he saw Charlie race in once or twice. Gordon Walker went in a few times as well, though Cas wasn’t surprised to see him leading such a dangerous mission; the man might not be entirely pleasant to be around, but he was a top-notch fighter.

The siege finally ended late one morning, about a week after it started. Shots had started to come slower from within Yorktown. Casualties still fell, but seemed to be falling slower. Until shots simply stopped coming from in town.

Cas wasn’t sure who saw it first. There was a young man on a roof at the edge of town, frantically waving a white flag high above his head.

“Hold your fire!” Cas shouted. He heard the command repeated on all sides.

The gunfire died as the young British soldier remained at his post, still waving his flag. Cas saw every one of Bobby’s aides start running for the General’s tent.

Surrender came quickly. Cas was invited to the negotiations between the commanders of both armies while the medics went to work on the wounded.

Negotiations were over in no time; the redcoats didn’t have much to bargain with at that point. Cas returned to his troops as soon as he could with the news. He didn’t think he’d ever heard cheering so loud, or so relieved.

Somewhere in their lines, someone struck up _Yankee Doodle_ , and Cas couldn’t help but laugh as the tune grew louder until nearly everyone was singing it. The British had brought the song as a way to make fun of their American adversaries, but the song had backfired on them; the American forces liked the song, and they’d been singing it through the entire war. It drove the British Generals half out of their minds.

The British marched out of Yorktown after that, every one of them taken prisoner. The song they played was one Cas had heard a few times, but it wasn’t one he knew very well. But he thought the lyrics were at least appropriate.

_The world turned upside down._

*~*~*~*~*

Lucifer sat on his throne, drumming his fingers on the armrest. He had just dismissed the messenger who had brought news of his troops’ defeat at Yorktown.

The attitude in Britain toward the war had been declining in the past few months, and Lucifer knew this would be the last straw. His subjects would not continue to fund a war when it was becoming clear that the colonies would not be giving up any time soon. Lucifer would have to surrender to his colonies and grant them their freedom. The thought angered him.

And on top of a losing effort in the Americas, the so-called United States now had a treaty in place with France, and that did not bode well for Lucifer. This, of course, was in addition to heightened tensions with Spain.

Lucifer growled to himself as he pushed himself to his feet. He sent a messenger to call his advisors and a scribe together. He had to address this bloody war, a _loss_ , a stain on Lucifer’s otherwise excellent rule.

“They’ll never survive on their own,” one of the advisors said half an hour later. “They have no idea how to lead a country.”

“They’ll remember their place,” someone else chimed in.

Lucifer knew his advisors were right. There was no way the United States would be able to survive long-term. They’d come crawling back to him as soon as they figured that out.

For now though, he still had to deal with having lost to them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> Dear Theodosia

Cas sent a letter home to Dean almost as soon as he had a free moment. He wouldn’t be able to leave for a few days, after everything was squared away with the troops.

General Singer left for England two days after the siege at Yorktown ended. He and a few of the men from Congress would be meeting with the King to officially end the war, though the war was, for all intents and purposes, over. Word of the victory was sent out with several different aides to anywhere there was still fighting going on.

“I suppose this is it,” Charlie said, coming up behind Cas as he watched the General’s ship sail out from the harbor.

Cas nodded. “We’re done fighting,” he said, glancing over at his friend. “Over here at least.”

Charlie laughed quietly. “I have a few things I need to take care of myself before the fighting begins again.”

“Good luck,” Cas said, holding his hand out to Charlie. “And have a safe trip.”

Charlie shook her head with a smile. She brushed Cas’ hand aside and hugged him instead. “ _Adieu, mon ami,_ ” she said. She held him a moment longer before she finally released him. “Perhaps we will see each other soon.”

“You’re always welcome at my home,” Cas said.

“And you mine,” Charlie said. An aide tapped her on the shoulder, telling her it was time she boarded her own ship. “I must be off,” she said with a small smile.

“We all have to go home sooner or later,” Cas said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I would not dream of it,” Charlie said. She hugged him again, quickly this time, before she turned and made her way to the docks, not looking back.

Over the next few days, there was an exchange of prisoners between the two armies before the British army boarded their ships to go back home. It was the first dawn after an eight-year night to see friends reunited, to see those who had seen horror be set free from those horrors.

Though Cas knew the war, the horrors they had seen, would never truly leave them. They all had nightmares. Cas knew of several who woke in tears. He hoped they’d heal, but he couldn’t be sure. For the days he was riding home to New York, however, the war seemed content to leave him alone to his excitement at seeing Dean again.

*~*~*~*~*

After Cas had his horse settled in at the stable, he nearly ran home. The stitches in his side pulled at his skin, but he ignored them for the time being, too focused on his family to worry about physical comfort.

The house looked much the same as he had left it, though the snow had melted and the first bit of grass and weeds were starting to grow up. The door wasn’t locked (it rarely was during the day), and Cas let himself in, expecting to see Dean and Jo in the den just inside the door, or to hear noise from the kitchen. Instead, the house was eerily quiet, and Cas wondered briefly if he’d managed to come home on a day when they’d be out at the market. But then they would have locked the door.

“Dean?” Cas asked the empty house. He took a deep breath, trying to decide if his mate was present or if the house just smelled like him. He caught a whiff of Dean, yes, and Jo too, but there were other smells; there was a half-familiar Beta scent in the air, and another that was all too familiar.

“Dean?” he asked again, louder this time, sounding almost panicked. He could smell blood in the air, and it made his heart race. He was half a second from tearing up the stairs when there was a hand on his arm.

Cas jerked his arm away and only just managed to restrain himself from swinging when he recognized who was standing in front of him.

Jo gave him a curious look, but didn’t ask about his jumpiness. “Good to see you back, Cas,” she said softly. “Dean’s sleeping upstairs, so we have to be quiet.”

Cas’ heart still hadn’t slowed, but he managed to force himself to be calm. “Is everything okay?” he asked, just barely managing to keep his voice under control. “It doesn’t smell right in here.”

Jo’s curious look melted into a wide grin. “Everything’s great,” she said. She started toward the stairs. “Follow me.”

Cas hesitated for just a moment before he warily followed her up. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see in just a second,” Jo replied.

When they reached the landing, Cas’ eyes were immediately on the door to the bedroom he shared with Dean; the door was cracked open just slightly, and Cas was certain he could smell Dean on the other side, though there were other smells as well.

“Quiet,” Jo whispered as a reminder. “He’s probably still asleep.” She pushed the bedroom door open, and the first thing Cas saw was Dean, fast asleep on his side and holding a pillow to his chest.

When Cas entered the room, he set his bag on the floor and looked around, noticing the Beta he’d smelled earlier sitting in the corner in a rocking chair that had been dragged up. It had been a few months since Cas had seen her, so it took him a moment to remember her name was Donna.

“Castiel, you’re home,” Donna stage-whispered, beaming at him. She stood, shifting the small bundle she held in her arms. “I wish you could have gotten here just a little sooner.” She moved so she was standing just beside Cas at an angle that would allow him to see what she was holding.

For a moment, all Cas could do was stare. His mind had been so preoccupied with what could be wrong that he didn’t even consider that he might have gotten home so soon after his pup’s birth. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before he managed to ask, “When?”

“Just yesterday,” Donna said, still smiling. “A healthy little boy.”

“What’s his name?” Cas asked, still not making a move to hold the pup.

Jo and Donna looked at each other for a second before Jo said, “We’ll let Dean tell you.”

“Why don’t you hold him?” Donna offered. When Cas hesitated, she said, “Just be gentle, and make sure you support his head.”

Cas nodded dumbly, shifting so he could get his arms under hers. He was careful to hold the pup correctly when he was placed in his arms. Cas wanted to say something, anything, but he couldn’t think of anything good enough to say. Instead he simply stood, staring at his son, asleep in his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you speechless before.”

Cas’ head snapped up at the voice to find Dean watching him. Dean looked exhausted, but he was smiling and Cas found himself beaming back at him. “What is there to say?” Cas asked, stepping lightly over to the bed, careful not to jostle the bundle in his arms. He sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and Dean rolled onto his back so he was looking up at Cas.

“His name is Benjamin,” Dean said. He raised his hand up to trail his fingers on his son’s blanket. “Ben to his friends.”

“Ben,” Cas repeated, looking from the pup’s face to Dean’s. “He’s perfect.”

Ben shifted suddenly in Cas’ arms, whimpering and crying out softly. Cas held him closer, watching as the little bundle blinked his eyes open and reached up as if to grab onto something.

“Give him here,” Dean said, pushing himself up into a sitting position and wincing slightly. When he was situated, Cas handed Ben to him so he could nurse.

“How’re you feeling?” Cas asked.

“Tired,” Dean said, glancing up from his pup. “Sore. But I’m okay; more weirded out by my nanny helping deliver my son than anything else.”

“Hey now,” Donna said, her tone mock-scolding. “I delivered and helped raise you _and_ your siblings, so don’t think there’s anything I haven’t seen.”

Dean scrunched his face up. “Thanks for that Donna.”

“Here to help,” Donna said with a smile. “Why don’t Jo and I leave you two alone for a bit?” She was already heading for the door as she said it.

“Yell if you need anything,” Jo added as she followed Donna out the door.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be here sooner,” Cas said when the door clicked shut.

“’S okay,” Dean said. “You were fighting a war. I understand.” He looked up to meet Cas’ gaze. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

“I’m glad to be back,” Cas said, knocking his forehead against Dean’s. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Dean smiled slightly and glanced down, suddenly feeling awkward. Then he noticed something, and his brow furrowed in concern. “Cas, you’re bleeding.”

“Hmm?” Cas pulled back, glancing down at himself. Sure enough, there was a small, dark red stain on the front of his shirt. Thankfully it didn’t seem to be growing. “I’m sure I just aggravated the stitches on my way here,” he said. “I’ll go downstairs and clean up and be right back.” He kissed Dean’s forehead before he stood from the bed and grabbed a clean shirt and fresh bandages from his bag.

“Cas?” Dean asked, his voice worried. “Are you okay?”

Cas smiled at him. “I’m fine,” he promised. “Just healing. I’ll be right back, okay?” He waited until Dean nodded to leave the room and head downstairs.

Jo and Donna were in the kitchen, each with a cup of tea. They stopped their conversation when Cas walked in, both their eyes immediately on the blood on his shirt.

“I’m fine,” he said before they could ask. “Just need to clean and redress a wound. Do you mind?”

They both shook their heads.

“Do you need help?” Donna asked.

“Help would be appreciated,” Cas said. He undid his shirt and was about to toss it in the sink when Jo took it from him.

“I’ll let this soak outside,” she said, making her way to the well behind the house to grab a bucket.

“What happened?” Donna asked as she helped Cas undo the soiled bandages.

Cas glanced behind him to make sure Dean hadn’t followed him downstairs. “Someone got me with a bayonet,” he said, his voice just a shade quieter.

“Does Dean know?” Donna asked, noticing the way Cas seemed to shy away from saying it too loudly. She stared at his side for half a second when the bandages came away, but she was quick to get to work cleaning the wound.

Cas shook his head. “He knows I was injured, but he doesn’t know how bad it is.” The breath hissed out of his lungs when Donna pressed an alcohol soaked rag to the stitches.

“Looks deep,” Jo observed with a disgusted look as she walked back in.

Cas nodded. “I lost a lot of blood,” he said. He chuckled bitterly, his side twitching as Donna cleaned him up. “But I’ll live.”

“You should get to a doctor,” Donna said. She wiped the last bit of blood from his skin and threw the rag in the sink to deal with later.

“I’ll go tomorrow,” Cas promised. He held the bandage where she told him to so she could wrap it around his torso.

When the bandages were snugly in place, Jo handed Cas his fresh shirt. “You should know my parents and Adam are coming over for supper tonight,” she said while he redressed himself.

“I look forward to it,” Cas said, tugging at the hem of his shirt to make sure it was straight before he tucked it in. “Will you two be staying here any longer?”

“I’ve offered to stay through the week,” Donna said. “Though I suppose we can both leave, if you don’t want us here?”

“No, stay, please,” Cas said quickly. “Some help while we adjust will be welcome.”

“We’ll help then,” Jo said with a smile.

“Which means you should probably get out of the kitchen,” Donna added, shooing Cas away. “We need to start cooking, and we don’t need you taking up space.”

Cas couldn’t help but laugh. “Whatever you say,” he said, turning on his heel to make his way back to the stairs.

When he made it back to the bedroom, he found Dean setting Ben in the crib that was set under the window on one wall. Cas stood in the doorway, just watching, until Dean straightened up and turned toward him.

Dean held out a hand, and Cas crossed the room to take it. “I missed you,” Dean said.

“I missed you too,” Cas said. He tugged Dean closer and wrapped his arms around him, taking a deep breath of his scent as he did. He smelled like home.

“’M tired,” Dean mumbled.

Cas smiled against him and pulled back, leading Dean to the bed. Cas kicked his shoes off and crawled in first and held out an arm for Dean, who was quick to snuggle up to him.

“Not there,” Cas said, wincing when Dean wrapped an arm around his midsection.

“Sorry,” Dean said. He raised his arm a few inches so it rested on Cas’ chest instead. His eyelids were already slipping closed.

“I’ll wake you for dinner,” Cas said quietly.

Dean groaned. “Don’t remind me.” He was asleep just a few seconds later anyway.

In the end, Jo had to wake them both up, with a not-quite-annoyed, “They’re going to be here in half an hour and the two of you are asleep. I don’t know what I expected.”

Cas waved her off as he pushed himself out of bed, but Dean burrowed deeper under the blankets.

“You can’t just sleep through dinner,” Cas said with a smirk, running a hand through his hair so it wasn’t quite so disheveled.

“I think I’m entitled to sleep through whatever the hell I want,” Dean said, his voice muffled against the pillows.

Cas couldn’t help but smile. He had to admit that he agreed. “Why don’t you just come down for a little while?” he suggested. “Excuse yourself during dinner, after you’ve said hello to everyone and had something to eat.”

Dean sighed, and the only reason Cas could tell was because the mound under the blankets rose and fell dramatically. “Fine,” Dean said, throwing the blanket off of himself and swinging his legs to the ground. “But only because I’m really hungry.”

“Of course,” Cas said fondly.

They made their way downstairs a few minutes later, looking significantly less like they had just woken up. Dean held Ben close to his chest, the pup looking up at him with wide, curious eyes.

“You’re going to be okay, Dean,” Cas said quietly, leaning close so only Dean could hear him; Dean’s scent was mostly anxiety at this point, and Cas hated to see him wound so tight.

“I know.” Even as he said it, Dean stepped closer to Cas, taking comfort in his mate’s presence. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to join everyone for dinner if Cas hadn’t made it home when he had.

The knock on the door made them both jump, though for completely different reasons. Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder reassuringly as he went to get the door.

“Castiel,” John said, clearly surprised, when the door opened. “Good evening. I wasn’t aware you had made it home.”

“Good evening to you too John,” Cas said, stepping aside to let the guests enter. “Mary, Adam,” he greeted when they walked by him. He noticed John was walking with a pronounced limp, and he wondered just how severe his injury the previous year had been.

When everyone was inside, he shut the door and turned to find the new arrivals in the den with Dean, who was clearly uncomfortable with being the center of attention. Cas was quick to get back to him.

“He’s so precious,” Mary was saying, standing close to Dean and gazing down at her grandson. “May I hold him?”

Dean nodded and carefully handed Ben to her. He tried to look nonchalant, but Cas could tell how protective he was.

“Have you decided on a name?” Mary asked, glancing between Dean and Cas.

When Dean hesitated for half a second, Cas answered for him. “His name is Benjamin.”

Mary smiled and nodded, accepting the answer. Adam mirrored his mother’s response, though he looked over at his father timidly.

“Benjamin?” John asked, taken aback. Cas was satisfied to have surprised the man twice in as many minutes.

“Yes, Benjamin,” Cas said, fixing John with a hard stare as if daring him to protest. In addition to the truth, he could think of a hundred lies to make John back off, but he decided against using any of them; John didn’t need an explanation.

John looked like he had a whole slew of arguments to make, but he set his jaw, saying nothing. Cas felt Dean relax beside him and it made him feel better about the fact that he could tell they were going to be playing politics all night.

Before anyone could say anything else, Donna called them all in for supper. Dean took Ben back from Mary, and when they reached the dining room, he set the pup in his cradle in one corner.

The dining room wasn’t very big, but everyone managed to fit. Cas took a seat at the head of the table with Dean to his right and John at the other end. Everyone took their seats as Jo and Donna brought the meal out before taking their own places.

For a few minutes, everyone was silent as they loaded their plates. There was a certain expectation of conversation in the air, and Cas knew that either he or John would have to break it.

“Castiel,” John finally said. “When did you arrive home?”

“Just a few hours ago,” Cas said. “Though I wish I could have gotten here sooner.”

John nodded. “Did you come straight from Yorktown?”

Cas stiffened, and he noticed Dean glance up at him, concerned. “I did.”

“Wish I could have been there,” John said, almost wistfully. “It must have been a sight.”

Cas took a deep breath, trying to decide what to say. He knew Dean hated talking about the war, and right now, Cas couldn’t say he disagreed. “In light of the occasion tonight,” he said delicately, “I would prefer if conversation stayed away from the war.”

John looked almost scandalized, but Cas couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“Well now that you _are_ back, Cas,” Mary said, immediately jumping in to fill the empty space before it could get too awkward, “what are you planning to do?”

This was a subject Cas was happy to work with, and conversation quickly turned to the new government and how it might be run. Cas was careful to avoid topics that would upset anyone, but he made sure to include everyone at the table in the discussion, even though he could tell it drove John up a wall.

“Has anyone heard from Sam?” Cas asked at one point. Conversation had turned to the southern states, and he hadn’t received any news about Sam since Dean had told him about Sam’s letter.

It was quiet until Dean said, “I haven’t heard anything since his letter a few weeks ago.”

“He sent a letter?” Mary asked, nearly choking on her wine in her surprise. “What did it say?”

Dean looked like he regretted having brought it up, throwing a nervous glance in his father’s direction. “He was sent to South Carolina,” he said, not quite looking at anyone, though he was facing his mother. “He said their delegates in Congress had agreed to recruit more Beta and Omega soldiers.” Dean’s voice was quiet, and Cas squeezed his hand reassuringly under the table.

“Omega soldiers?” John asked with an amused smile. “That’s an oxymoron, don’t you think?”

Cas could almost physically feel his blood heat up, and he turned a glare on John. Everyone but John recoiled at the scent of angry Alpha that was suddenly in the room. “No, I don’t think so,” he said, somehow keeping his voice level.

John’s gaze hardened. “It’s a ridiculous idea,” he said, as if Cas were being foolish. “They’re no good as fighters. It’s not what they’re designed for.”

“And what might that be?” Cas practically growled, disgusted that John seemed to expect him to agree.

“You know as well as I do what they’re designed for.”

Dean and Adam flinched in their seats, and Cas felt like John had smacked him. “You will not insult my family in my presence,” Cas said through gritted teeth.

Ben chose that moment to start whimpering in his cradle, and Cas could see how relieved Dean was to have a reason to excuse himself. Cas didn’t expect him back.

“I think it would be best if you left,” Cas said, as politely as he could.

John scoffed. “Oh, I hardly think–”

“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Cas said firmly, standing from his seat.

A beat passed in silence. Then another. And then it finally seemed to dawn on John that Cas had meant what he said, and he stood from his seat as well.

“Okay,” John said. “If you insist on being so sensitive, we’ll leave.” He stepped away from his chair, and Mary and Adam stood to follow him.

Cas stepped around them to open the door for them. Mary gave him an apologetic look as she passed with a mouthed _I’m sorry._ Cas nodded to her in acknowledgement.

“You’re always welcome here,” Cas said to Adam as he walked by, so quietly only Adam could hear him.

Adam offered no reply, but Cas hoped he’d keep the offer in mind.

When the door had clicked shut, Cas rested his forehead against it, his eyes closed. He wanted to hit something, but he forced himself to breathe until he could think clearly.

“Cas?”

Cas shook his head to clear it and turned to find Jo standing behind him. “What is it?” he asked tiredly.

“Donna and I can handle cleaning up if you want to make sure Dean is okay,” Jo replied.

“Thank you,” Cas said. He turned to head up the stairs, but paused when Jo caught at his sleeve.

“He used to get panicky whenever our father got angry,” she said. “If that’s how he is, I’d be careful if I were you. An Alpha might make him nervous.”

Cas’ jaw tightened. He hated to think that he might not be able to comfort his mate, the man he loved, but he nodded. “If I can’t help, I’ll come get you.”

“Good luck,” Jo said, releasing her grip on Cas.

Cas took a deep breath and headed up the stairs. When he reached the bedroom he could hear Jo and Donna talking in the kitchen, but nothing from the other side of the door.

“Dean?” he asked quietly as he swung the door open.

Dean was sitting on the bed with Ben in his arms, both of them already dressed for bed. He glanced up when Cas entered, and even if Cas couldn’t smell how upset he was, his lower lip was quivering enough to be seen in the low light of dusk. “What if he’s an Omega?” Dean asked, so quietly Cas almost couldn’t hear him.

Cas furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

Dean looked down again. He stuttered a few times before shaking his head and giving up on what he wanted to say.

Cas crossed the room to sit opposite Dean on the bed. “Dean, what are you worried about?” Cas asked gently.

Dean was quiet for a minute, steeling himself. “What if he’s like me?” he asked, his voice thick but more solid than it had been before.

“He’ll be very lucky to be half the man you are,” Cas said.

Dean shook his head, his jaw clenched shut. By now Ben had fallen asleep, and Dean stood carefully to take him to the crib.

“He won’t be lucky to be like me,” Dean said when he’d retaken his place on the bed. “You heard what my father said.”

“I did hear what he said,” Cas agreed. “And what he said was bullshit.”

“You’re just saying that because you’re stuck with me,” Dean said, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them.

Cas forced himself to be patient at the statement. “I’m saying it because it’s true,” he said. “And I’m not stuck with you – I want to be here.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just tightened his grip on himself.

Cas sighed and scooted marginally closer to his mate. “Dean, do you remember our first night here?” When Dean didn’t answer, he continued, “I told you I was yours. And I meant it.”

Dean squirmed uncomfortably. “You deserve better than me,” he whispered.

“What either of us believe I deserve is irrelevant,” Cas said. “I love _you_ , Dean.”

“That’s because you’re an Alpha and I’m an Omega,” Dean said quietly, wiping at his eyes.

“Dean, I have spent far too much time away from you,” Cas said. “In the weeks and months I’ve been gone, I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t _smell_ you. If I only loved you for _what_ you are, do you think I would have kept coming back?”

A minute passed in silence before Dean finally looked up at Cas. “You mean that?”

“I will never say anything to you that I don’t mean,” Cas promised. He held out his arms in invitation, and Dean hesitated for only a second before he crawled into Cas’ embrace.

“My father always said–”

“I don’t want to hear what your father said,” Cas said, holding Dean close to him. “Your father is wrong, and if he ever says anything like that around you again, I’ll tear his throat out. He shouldn’t be saying such things.”

Dean just nodded, his face buried against Cas’ neck. Cas could feel Dean inhaling his scent, and Dean’s own scent calmed down in the process.

“I’m sorry events turned out the way they did,” Cas said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple.

Dean didn’t respond, just snuggled closer to Cas, who shifted their position so they were lying down. “You really won’t mind if Ben presents as an Omega?” Dean asked, half asleep, a few minutes later.

“Not at all,” Cas replied.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> Non-Stop
> 
> Bonus*:  
> Laurens Interlude**
> 
> *from the presentation  
> **in that it is the complete opposite of that

Between Ben waking them up and the nightmares of the war, Cas didn’t get much sleep his first week home. During the day, he began attending classes at King’s College on scholarship in a curriculum so accelerated he didn’t have time to find work. Luckily he had enough saved at this point that he was sure he wouldn’t have to worry about finances until he was finished with class.

With help from Donna and Jo, Dean had adjusted to his new routine with relative ease. He didn’t mention his father, and he never brought up the conversation he and Cas had had after dinner. Cas had tried to ask about it the next morning, but Dean had brushed him off, and Cas had let it go. They focused instead on finding a new rhythm, and when they found it, life went on.

On the day when Jo and Donna were supposed to leave, they decided to make something special for dinner, which required them to go to market to pick up ingredients.

“We’ll be back in an hour,” Jo promised as she and Donna made their way out the door. “Maybe two.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. He was sitting in an armchair in the den, rocking Ben in his arms. “I’m not helpless.”

After they left, Dean sat for a few minutes until he was sure Ben was asleep. He was just about to get up to move Ben to his cradle when there was a knock on the door, causing the pup to stir awake again. Dean sighed and crossed to the door.

When he pulled the door open, Dean was tempted to rub at his eyes with his free hand to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. “Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Sam said with a slight smile. His clothes were clean, if tattered, as if he had cleaned up recently, and his long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing a tired, scraped face.

Sam didn’t get to say anything else before Dean had him in an awkward one-armed hug. He was just under a half a head taller than Dean now, and the realization came as a shock to him; he didn’t usually think of the fact that it had been six years since he’d seen his family with any kind of consistency.

“What’re you waiting for? Get your ass in here,” Dean said, finally releasing his brother and standing aside so he could enter.

“Who’s this?” Sam asked, looking down at the bundle in Dean’s arms.

Dean smiled proudly. “This is Ben,” he said, closing the door behind Sam. Ben was squirming, and Dean had to readjust his hold on him.

“How old is he?” Sam asked, leaning slightly closer. “He’s so little.”

“About a week,” Dean replied. He led the way into the den and gestured at an open chair for Sam to take a seat.

“Are you here alone?” Sam asked, sniffing the air.

Dean shook his head. “Donna and Jo just left; they’ll be back in a little while. Cas is at school.” He studied his brother for a minute in silence, taking in how different he looked. “What are you doing here?”

“War’s over,” Sam said with a shrug. “This was the first place I thought to go.”

“You’re welcome to stay here,” Dean offered. “Until you get on your feet.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Sam said, holding his hands in front of himself. His eyes were locked on Ben, clearly worried he’d be in the way.

Dean waved away his concern. “You’re my brother, and if you need a place to stay, you’re welcome in my house.”

“Cas won’t mind?” Sam asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow. He didn’t need to say how grateful he was for the offer; he knew Dean already knew.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Now you’re asking stupid questions.” It was then he noticed that Sam was looking between him and Ben and he gave Sam a curious look. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Wha- oh, sure,” Sam said, shifting in his seat. He held his nephew like Dean told him to, and sat very still; he’d seen lives torn down for so long, he wasn’t sure how to respond to one that hadn’t even gotten started yet. Ben was fidgety for a moment, and Sam had to readjust a couple times before they were both in a position that was okay for them. And then Ben was just watching him curiously.

“How was South Carolina?” Dean asked after a few minutes had passed in silence.

Sam snorted. “It was South Carolina, that’s for sure,” he said. His expression darkened, and he wouldn’t meet Dean’s eyes. “They reneged on our deal. I had to fight tooth and nail to get any troops together.”

Dean was quiet a moment, waiting for Sam to continue. When he didn’t, he asked, “What happened?”

Sam shook his head. “We didn’t have enough soldiers,” he said. His troubled scent was so strong that Ben wiggled in his arms and whimpered.

Dean was quick to take his son back to calm him down.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said softly.

“It’s okay,” Dean said. “You don’t have to talk about it.”

“No,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “I’m sorry the states aren’t taking Beta and Omega soldiers more seriously.” He looked down, staring at his hands. “I had a chance to change that, and I couldn’t.”

“Hey, don’t talk like that,” Dean said firmly. “You think I don’t know the world’s fucked up for people like me?”

Sam glanced up at him with sad eyes. “But-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Dean said, cutting his brother off. “You tried. _Someone_ agreed with you. That’s enough for now.”

Sam cracked a smile at that, though it didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Guess we’ll have to change tactics then.”

“Let’s talk about something that isn’t quite so depressing,” Dean said abruptly.

“Then you’re going to have to do most of the talking,” Sam said. His smile at that was more genuine.

Dean wasn’t used to being the one driving a conversation with anyone but Cas, so after he talked about what had been going on recently, he turned the conversation to stories from when they were children; it was easier to talk about the times they’d explored the estate upstate than it was to talk about the chaos they’d been living through the last eight years.

They were laughing when Jo and Donna returned home. The ladies set down what they were carrying and rushed over to wrap Sam in a group hug.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?” Jo demanded, though there was no irritation in her voice.

“I’m not allowed to surprise my family?” Sam shot back.

“No,” Jo said.

“I just hope we have enough for dinner,” Donna said, smacking Sam lightly on his arm. “You’re joining us, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Sam said with a smile.

“Sammy’s staying with us for a while,” Dean said from where he was still seated in his chair.

Sam made a face. “It’s Sam,” he said. “No one’s called me Sammy since I was twelve.”

“Get used to it again, Sammy.” Dean grinned when his brother glared at him, and gave no indication that he planned on discontinuing his use of the name.

“We should probably get started on dinner,” Donna said, effectively cutting off whatever Sam might have said.

“Let me help,” Sam offered.

Jo raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “They teach you to cook during a war too?”

“Not even a little,” Sam said with a lopsided grin. “I can learn though.”

Jo eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”

Sam drew himself up to his full height and adopted a noble expression. “I am Lieutenant Colonel Samuel Winchester-”

“Forget I asked,” Jo said with a laugh. She followed Donna into the kitchen and gestured for Sam to follow.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Dean called after them. Sam had his back to him, but Dean thought he could still see his brother roll his eyes.

Cas came home half an hour later, and paused just inside the door, listening intently. He had gotten used to there being conversation when he walked in, but he was surprised by one voice, one scent, in particular that he hadn’t been around in a year.

“You’re home,” Dean said with a smile, appearing from the kitchen a moment later.

Cas nodded, a curious look on his face. “That’s not Sam, is it?” he asked quietly.

Dean’s smile grew wider and he took Cas’ hand. “He just got here today,” he said, tugging on Cas’ hand. “Come on.”

Cas allowed himself to be led to the kitchen, and he wasn’t surprised to find Sam helping Jo and Donna with dinner preparations. “Making yourself at home?” Cas asked with a smirk.

“Like I’ve lived here my whole life,” Sam joked, wiping his hands on a towel before he wrapped Cas in a bear hug. “Good to see you still around, Cas.”

“And you,” Cas said. He patted Sam’s back once before he pulled away. “You’ll have to tell me what happened in South Carolina. But not tonight.” Cas didn’t miss the relief mixed in with the confusion on Sam’s face. “Tonight is a happy night,” he added. “We’ll celebrate your homecoming, and leave the rest for another day.”

*~*~*~*~*

Over the summer, a new routine worked itself out when Cas finished his courses and found work at a law firm only days after that. Sam split his time between classes (to catch up on what his education had been lacking in the past six years) and whatever work he could find, since he insisted on contributing to the household in some way, though Cas and Dean had assured him he was welcome anyway.

Cas was just finishing with setting up his office at the law firm when a familiar voice said his name from his doorway, and when he glanced up, he could have laughed for who he saw there. “Crowley, what a pleasant surprise,” he said, only half sarcastic. “What are you doing here?”

“I work next door,” Crowley said. “They told me I would find you here, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to believe them.”

Cas chuckled. “Well, you found me,” he said. Crowley shifted, and something on his finger caught Cas’ eye. “Crowley, did you get married?”

Crowley glanced down at his hand, a peculiar expression crossing his face. “I did.”

“Congratulations,” Cas said. “I wish I had known.”

Crowley waved him off.

“Is this the woman you talked about last year?”

“Yes,” Crowley said. “Her husband never came home from Georgia, and I couldn’t leave her alone with our pup and no husband.”

Cas blinked at him, unsure of how he was supposed to react to that.

“Anyway,” Crowley said, when the silence had dragged out long enough to become awkward, “there’s a case they want us to handle.”

Cas tilted his head to the side curiously, eying the file Crowley had in his hand. “Which case?” he asked, crossing the room to Crowley to take a look at the file.

“The Weeks case,” Crowley said, handing the papers over. “Man’s accused of killing his girlfriend. We’re his defense.”

“A murder case?” Cas asked, pausing in his page flipping. His mind raced over the newspapers he’d read in the last few months since the United States had officially been formed. He looked back up at Crowley, his brow furrowed. “This is the first of its kind in this country, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed,” Crowley replied.

Cas _hmm_ ed at that and went back to reading the case file, his mind already working overtime to find ways to cast doubt on the prosecution’s case.

In the end, he and Crowley won the case.

When Cas arrived home after the trial, a mixture of relieved and excited, he found Dean in the den and walked up behind him, circling his arms around Dean’s middle. “Good evening,” he said, nuzzling against Dean’s neck.

“Good evening to you too,” Dean said with a surprised laugh. He turned around in Cas’ arms to look at him curiously. “What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“We won the case,” Cas said proudly. He leaned his forehead against Dean’s, grinning.

Dean laughed. “Now why am I not surprised?” he asked, leaning in to kiss Cas.

Cas responded hungrily, pressing against Dean and holding him closer. After the weeks he had spent focused on the case, it was a relief to be able to just be present with his mate.

Dean pulled away after a few seconds with a mischievous grin. “Dinner first,” he said.

Cas pouted good-naturedly and released his grip on Dean.

“Don’t come in here until you get your hands off of each other,” Sam called from the kitchen.

Dean laughed. He kissed Cas’ cheek before he led the way into the dining room so they could get everything set up for the meal.

*~*~*~*~*

For the next year, Cas worked exclusively with the law firm. There was a lot of work, but he made sure to be home for supper every day. He still had nightmares most nights; sometimes he could get back to sleep when they woke him up, but other times Dean would wake to find Cas missing from their bed, working on one case or another in his study. Dean would ask what had woken him, and Cas could never find it in himself to lie, though he wouldn’t explain beyond, “Nightmares, of the war. Nothing else.”

“Tell me about them,” Dean would say.

Cas would always shake his head. “It’s nothing.” Sometimes he would stay in bed when he couldn’t get back to sleep, if only to keep Dean from asking to hear about the horrors he saw in his sleep. How was he supposed to tell his mate that when he slept he would see the bodies of his friends, broken and bloody on the battlefield, while he was helpless to save them?

“Cas, I want to help.”

“I know,” Cas would say. “You do help. As long as you’re here when I wake up, I know where I am.” He would never not be grateful for the fact that his nightmares seemed content to leave Dean out of them.

Cas made a promise to himself that eventually he would tell Dean what he saw, but not now, when the war was still so fresh on everyone’s minds. Cas knew Sam had a similar problem, and sometimes they would cross paths in the middle of the night, unable to sleep. They never talked about it, but some part of them took a bit of comfort from the fact that someone else was also having trouble dealing with what had happened.

Sam was able to find a place of his own after a few months of staying with Dean and Cas. They insisted it was no trouble if he needed to stay with them longer, but he was adamant about moving out, promising that he’d be alright on his own.

“You know you’re always welcome back here,” Cas reminded him as he was leaving.

“You act like I’m moving across the state,” Sam said, exasperated. “I’ll be three blocks away.”

“Look at him. All grown up,” Dean teased.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Dean grinned. “I know.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “I’ll see you guys around.”

“Take care of yourself,” Cas said. He and Dean stood at the door, watching Sam’s retreating back.

“There’s something he’s not telling us,” Dean said when his brother was out of earshot. “You know that right?”

“I know,” Cas said. He shrugged. “He’ll tell us when he’s ready, I suppose.”

Dean looked at Cas out of the corner of his eye. “I bet you a dollar it’s a girl.”

Cas glanced over at Dean. “Could be a boy,” he pointed out.

Dean considered this, frowned thoughtfully. “I bet you a dollar he’s got a crush on someone,” he amended.

Cas laughed softly. “Okay Dean,” he said fondly.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Nothing.” Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and pulled him closer. “I just don’t understand why you would need to bet to get my money.”

“You have something better?” Dean asked, stepping marginally closer.

“Anything you want,” Cas replied simply.

Dean turned to Cas and studied him a moment, chewing on the inside of his cheek pensively. “I think I like the sound of that,” he said finally, a smile stretched across his lips.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas’ first year back wasn’t very eventful, which was a relief, as far as he was concerned. He worked several cases, and won a good portion of them. The work was at least steady, and he slowly but surely adjusted to home life.

It was only a month or so after Sam moved out, however, that Mary paid them an unexpected visit.

“I’m sorry, I know I should have sent someone to let you know I was coming,” she said when Cas opened the door.

“No, it’s okay Mary,” Cas said, looking around behind her. She smelled upset, and he had a sinking feeling in his gut. “Come in.”

“Mom, what are you doing here?” Dean asked, coming out of the kitchen when he heard the extra set of footsteps approaching. “I wish I’d known; I would have set an extra place.” He paused when he caught her scent. “Is everything okay?”

Mary tried to smile at him, but it was a pained look. “It’s… Well, it’s your father,” she said.

“What about him?” Dean asked, suddenly uncomfortable, suddenly protective.

“He was sick,” Mary said, wiping at her eyes. “He’d been sick for a while, but he didn’t want me to tell you.” She had to pause for a moment to collect herself before she could continue. “He passed away this morning,” she finally said, her voice wobbling.

For a moment, no one moved. Dean wasn’t sure anyone even breathed – he knew he didn’t. Truth be told, he wasn’t even sure what he was supposed to feel. He couldn’t say he was upset, but he certainly didn’t like seeing his mother so sad.

“I’m sorry mom,” Dean said, surprising himself. He crossed what little space there was between them to hug her. He was glad no one corrected him – that no one pointed out that that wasn’t the kind of thing someone said after they’d just lost their father.

Cas volunteered to help get the funeral arranged, and though he couldn’t oversee the reading of John’s will and the distribution of his estate because of their familial relationship, he offered to find someone who could.

Later that night, when dinner was cleaned up and Mary had gone home and Ben had been put to bed, Dean curled up next to Cas in bed. “Cas, what am I supposed to feel right now?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Cas asked, shifting slightly so he could get a better look at Dean.

“I’m not really upset that he’s gone,” Dean said. “I mean I am, I guess. But not much.”

Cas was quiet for a moment. “He wasn’t good enough to you,” he finally said. “If you aren’t upset over losing him, it’s his own fault.”

“He was my father,” Dean said, as if he thought that was supposed to mean something.

Cas sighed. “When I was thirteen, after my mother died, I moved in with a cousin,” he started. He felt Dean’s attention catch; he’d never told this story before. “My cousin did little more than let me stay in his house, and he didn’t hide the fact that he thought I was an inconvenience to him.”

“Cas,” Dean said, though he wasn’t sure what he meant.

Cas glanced down at him. “I came home one day to find my cousin in the den, dead by his own hand,” he said.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

Cas shook his head. “Don’t be,” he said. “I tell you this because I felt like you do, when I found him. I was upset because death hurts people, but not because I cared about him.” He smiled slightly and rubbed his hand over Dean’s back. “It’s okay to not be broken up about losing your father.”

“But my mom,” Dean said. “How am I supposed to go to his funeral and not be upset when she’s so…” He gestured helplessly, unable to find the words.

“People grieve differently,” Cas replied. “Your mother knows that, I’m sure. And she knows that you have no reason to grieve at all.”

Dean thought about that for a minute, scooting closer to Cas, though there wasn’t much room between them.

“It’s okay that you’re not upset, Dean.”

Dean sighed and wrapped his arm around his mate. “Okay.”

He didn’t cry at his father’s funeral.

*~*~*~*~*

One day, after a year at home, Cas came home and gave Dean a kiss on the cheek, as he always did. He set his things on his desk in his study, as he always did. But when he returned to the kitchen to find out if Dean needed any help with anything, as he always did, Dean had a letter in his hand.

“This came for you,” Dean said, offering the letter to Cas.

Cas hadn’t been expecting a letter, and he was surprised to see where it had come from. He broke the seal and skimmed it quickly, a curious look on his face.

“What does it say?” Dean asked, trying to get a read on Cas’ expression.

Cas glanced up at Dean, smiling slightly. “I’ve been asked to serve in Congress.”

“Really?” Dean asked.

“See for yourself.” Cas handed the letter over to Dean, who took it eagerly.

“Well would you look at that,” Dean said when he finished reading the letter. He set the page down and wrapped his arms around Cas. “My mate, the Congressman.”

Cas chuckled. “You don’t mind?”

Dean rolled his eyes and kissed his mate. “Get out there and change things,” he said. He pulled back and went to scoop Ben up from where he was playing in the corner of the room. “You hear that Ben?” Dean asked, walking back to Cas with his pup on his hip. “Your Papa’s going be a Congressman.”

Ben managed to say a lot without saying anything at all, babbling nearly endlessly. He made a few pointed noises and held his arms out to Cas, who laughed and took his son from Dean.

“Maybe he’ll take after you and go to Congress when he’s old enough,” Dean said, turning back to the meal he was just finishing.

“Maybe,” Cas said with a smile.

He started his work with Congress in Manhattan the next week, suspending his work with the law firm for the time being, and he quickly grew frustrated with the governing body. With each state effectively acting as its own country, the laws Congress made were largely ineffective, unless they had to do with foreign affairs on behalf of all thirteen states.

Cas had known how weak the Articles of Confederation were, but he hadn’t been aware they were so ineffectual. Not only that, but he began to work closer with the state government in Albany in order to better serve the state in Congress, and he hated to say the corruption there didn’t quite surprise him.

Cas and a few of the other delegates tried to push several amendments to the Articles through Congress, but any amendment required approval from every state after Congress had reached an agreement on the amendment itself. When the amendments didn’t change anything, they tried proposing a revision to the Articles, but that, too, fell through.

As Cas’ term drew to a close, he often spent his nights at home debating whether or not he had the patience to continue working with Congress for another year.

He was sitting in an armchair in the den one night, almost exactly a year after he began working with Congress, bouncing Ben on his knee, when Dean walked up to him with an excited look on his face.

“What is it?” Cas asked with a curious tilt of his head.

Dean didn’t say anything, just knelt beside the chair and leaned over to rest his head on Cas’ shoulder.

Cas turned his head to plant a kiss in Dean’s hair, and paused. Something about Dean’s scent had been off for a few weeks, but Cas hadn’t been able to put his finger on it. Now the difference was significant. Even Ben noticed, though his sense of smell wasn’t refined enough to pick up on most things just yet.

“Smell funny,” he said, crinkling his nose.

Dean and Cas both laughed, and Dean ruffled his son’s hair affectionately. “Yeah Ben, I do,” he said.

It seemed that that was the final push Cas needed; the next day, he resigned his seat in Congress and returned to his work as an attorney, not wanting to bring so much frustration home to a new pup.

*~*~*~*~*

Just before Ben’s sixth birthday, Cas had a letter waiting for him when he got home.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Cas asked, inspecting the return address.

“No idea,” Dean said, intercepting Claire before she could run into the stove. She wouldn’t turn three for a few more months, and she had the worst habit of getting into things. “Would you mind keeping her occupied elsewhere?” Dean asked.

“Of course,” Cas said, scooping Claire into his arms. “Yell if you need anything,” he added as he made his way to the den. He found Ben sitting on the floor by the fireplace, reading through one of his books for school. “Hello Ben.”

Ben glanced up briefly. “Hi Papa.”

Cas sat heavily in one of the armchairs, settling Claire on his lap. “We won’t disturb you here, will we Ben?”

“No, I’m okay,” Ben said, his focus already back on what he had been doing.

“Let’s see what this letter says, shall we?” Cas asked, glancing down at Claire.

“No,” Claire said.

“No?” Cas asked. His hands stilled before he could break the seal. “Why not?”

“No,” Claire said again.

“I have to know what it says,” Cas said.

Claire squirmed in response. “Down,” she said.

“If I let you down, you can’t go back in the kitchen,” Cas said seriously.

Claire stuck her lips out in a pout. She stared at Cas like that for the better part of a minute, but when he didn’t back down, she nodded. “Okay.”

Cas expected to have to chase her back to the kitchen anyway, but she did as she was told, plopping down beside Ben and inspecting his book thoughtfully. Cas watched her for a moment to make sure she would stay before he finally broke the seal on the letter and unfolded it.

“What does it say?” Ben asked after a moment.

Cas glanced up from his letter to see Ben watching him curiously. He smiled at him. “Why don’t you come read it to me?” Cas suggested. Ben was just learning to read, and Cas knew how much his son liked to show off what he had learned.

“Really?” Ben asked, already scrambling to his feet. He stood in front of Cas, eagerly taking the letter when it was offered to him. “’Dear Cas-tiel Novak,’” he read, pronouncing Castiel like _Casteal_. His brow furrowed in confusion, and he looked up at Cas for an answer.

“Cas-ti-el,” Cas said, pronouncing it carefully so Ben could hear the difference. “It’s my name.”

The confused look didn’t go away. “Daddy calls you ‘Cas,’” he said.

Cas nodded. “’Cas’ is short for ‘Castiel,’” he explained patiently.

Ben considered this for a moment. “I’ll just call you Papa,” he said decidedly.

“Good idea,” Cas said, smiling.

Ben looked back down at the letter. “’This letter is to rem-remind you that your pr-pres-presence?’” he read, looking up at Cas for confirmation on how to pronounce the last word. When Cas nodded encouragingly, Ben smiled proudly and continued. “’Your _presence_ is requ-requested at the Con-Consti-’” He stopped again, staring at the word, his mouth working silently to try to figure out what it was supposed to say.

“Let me see?” Cas asked. He held an arm out in invitation for Ben to stand beside him.

Ben turned so Cas could see the letter too, and pointed to the word he was having trouble with.

“’Constitutional,’” Cas said, moving his finger across the word as he read it.

“Why does the ‘-tion’ make the ‘shun’ sound?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know,” Cas said thoughtfully.

Ben pursed his lips and looked back down at the page in front of him, his eyes roaming quickly over the letter. “There are a lot of big words in the letter,” he observed.

“There are,” Cas agreed. “Do you want to try to read them?”

Ben thought for a few seconds, his eyes pausing on a few words in the letter, and he shook his head, holding the page back out to Cas.

“That’s okay,” Cas said. “That was very good.”

Ben’s expression brightened. “Can you read it to me?” he asked.

“Of course,” Cas said. He shifted in his seat so Ben could lean over the armrest and read the letter along with him. “’Dear Castiel Novak,’” he started. “’This letter is to remind you that your presence is requested at the Constitutional Convention beginning May 25th in Philadelphia.’”

“What does that mean?” Ben interrupted.

“Well,” Cas said. “Do you remember when I went to Maryland last September?” Ben nodded. “While I was there, we didn’t have enough people from each state to finish what we wanted to finish. So we decided we would have a larger meeting this year to do what we need to do.”

“How long are you going to be gone?” Ben asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cas replied. “But I will be home as soon as I can.”

*~*~*~*~*

The Convention lasted from May to September, and the debates and speeches were nearly endless. General Singer was elected to preside over the Convention, and he did his best to maintain order among the delegates, though the air in the room grew tense on more than one occasion.

Castiel became fast friends with a Virginian by the name of Michael Cohen, an Alpha who shared the idea that the central government needed to be stronger in order to keep the states united. The two of them worked on several proposals together, and Cas was usually the one who presented them on the floor.

Crowley’s presence at the convention didn’t surprise Cas in the least, and neither did the fact that Crowley spent much of his time there just listening, occasionally posing a question or two, almost never offering suggestions on what he thought was best.

By the time the Constitution had been drafted, Cas was ready to go home. He had exchanged letters with Dean every few days, and one of the first he had received held news of another addition to their family, and it made Cas’ skin itch to be kept away for so long. And aside from family matters, he knew he would have to defend the Constitution to his home state, as all of the delegates would have to do, in order to have the document ratified.

The idea came to him late one night, after he’d been home for a week or so. Cas had woken up shortly after midnight and had no desire to try to find sleep again, instead making his way quietly to his study to work out his defense of the Constitution. He sorted through his papers slowly, reading over the summaries he had written of the different sections and the possible arguments he might have to counter.

It seemed so obvious, then, that he wondered why he hadn’t thought of it before.

Cas wrote a quick note to Dean saying he had gone out for a walk and left it on Dean’s bedside table, just in case Dean woke before he returned.

The night was cool and clear, perfect for thinking. It didn’t help calm Cas’ excitement.

When he reached the house he was looking for, he knocked twice and forced himself to wait.

Crowley opened the door with an annoyed expression on his face that didn’t change when he realized who had woken him. “Castiel,” he said by way of greeting. “Is there a reason you’re at my house at two in the morning?”

“Can we confer, sir?” Cas asked without preamble.

“At two in the morning?” Crowley hissed. “Can’t this wait for a more reasonable hour?”

“It’s important,” Cas said.

Crowley sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind him. “Is this a legal matter?” he asked.

“It is,” Cas said, already switching tracks.

“What do you need?”

“You’re a better lawyer than I am,” Cas said, and he could see Crowley preen slightly. “I know I’m abrasive, but you’re incredible in court. Succinct, persuasive. My client needs a strong defense. I think you might be the solution.”

Crowley chuckled to himself and shook his head. “Who’s your client?” he asked.

“The United States Constitution,” Cas said.

Crowley’s face immediately dropped back into annoyance. “No,” he said, already turning back to his door.

“Hear me out,” Cas said quickly, catching Crowley’s arm to still him.

“No, Castiel,” Crowley said, jerking his arm away.

“Listen,” Cas said, putting a hand on the door to stop Crowley from opening it. “A series of essays published in local papers, defending the document to the public.”

“No one will read it,” Crowley argued. He seemed resigned to let Cas finish his piece, at least.

“I disagree,” Cas said.

“And if your plan fails?”

Cas shook his head. “It won’t.”

“The Constitution’s a mess, besides,” Crowley said with a wave of his hand.

“So we amend it.”

“It’s full of contradictions.”

“So is independence,” Cas countered. “We have to have a starting point.”

“The answer is still no,” Crowley said.

“You’re making a mistake,” Cas said.

“Goodnight, Castiel,” Crowley said pointedly, grabbing for the door handle again.

“What are you waiting for?” Cas asked, even as he stepped aside, having made his case.

“What?” Crowley demanded.

“We won the war,” Cas said. “What was the point of that if we end up creating the same mess for ourselves?” There was a beat of tense silence, and then a curious look crossed Cas’ face. “Do you _support_ the Constitution?”

“Of course,” Crowley said. “Anything’s better than what we’ve had to deal with the last six years.”

“Then defend it,” Cas said forcefully.

“And what if you’re backing the wrong horse?” Crowley asked. He realized he still hadn’t opened his door, and he was annoyed with himself for having gotten pulled back into the conversation.

“We fought, and we killed, in order for this nation to exist at all,” Cas said. There was iron in his voice. “For once in your life, take a stand on something. I don’t understand why you insist on standing aside.”

Crowley shook his head, finally yanking his door open. “I’ll keep all my plans close to my chest, where they belong,” he hissed. “Goodnight.” He stepped inside, making as if to slam the door, but managing to close it quietly when he remembered it was still just after _two in the fucking morning_.

Cas shook his head and walked purposefully back down the block, his mind racing for names of anyone else who might be willing to help him.

*~*~*~*~*

“Cas, your essay isn’t going anywhere,” Dean said. He was leaning against the doorway to Cas’ study, watching his mate hurriedly putting words on paper.

“I know,” Cas said without looking up. “Just let me finish this sentence.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Jo’s leaving in five minutes,” he said, turning to leave. When Cas just nodded, still staring at the page, Dean shook his head and made his way back out to the den, where Jo was sitting with Jesse and Claire on her lap and Ben leaning on the arm rest.

“Is he coming to say goodbye?” Jo asked, glancing up when Dean walked in.

Dean shrugged. “We’ll see,” he said. “I can’t exactly drag him in here by the collar of his shirt.”

“You could try,” Jo suggested.

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Cas said, appearing in the doorway behind Dean with a slightly concerned look on his face.

“I would still like to see it,” Jo said, and the children giggled.

“Wouldn’t we all,” Cas said with a smile. He rubbed a hand over Dean’s back. “I promise I’ll be more prompt in the future.”

“I hope so,” Dean said. “My sister’s leaving for London with her mate and you almost don’t have time to say goodbye.”

“Hey, at least I picked my own mate,” Jo pointed out, setting Claire and Jesse on their feet and pushing herself out of the chair. Her father had been trying to arrange a political marriage for Jo for years, as he had done for Adam, but in the end she had picked someone herself. They were mated almost before John knew they were courting, and even though he disagreed with how they went about their courtship, he really couldn’t complain about who Jo picked for herself; her mate had made a fortune on real estate during the Revolution, and John no doubt would have been doubly impressed with the fact that Jo’s mate was currently being sent to Europe to act as an ambassador to England.

“That you did,” Cas said. When Jo opened her arms to him, he wrapped her in a hug. “Take care,” he said.

“Always,” Jo replied. She pulled back after a moment and hugged her brother and her niece and nephews in turn. “Don’t forget to write,” she said, looking between all five of them when they walked her to the door.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dean said.

Jo made her way down the walkway to where a carriage was waiting for her. She waved from the window as it pulled away.

“I should get back to work,” Cas said. He kissed Dean’s temple before he turned back to the house.

“Sam and Jess are coming over for dinner, so you need to come when I call you,” Dean called after him.

“I will,” Cas promised. And he did, though he wrote feverishly between when he sat down and when Dean called him. It was his tenth essay in three weeks, and he was determined to get it to the _Times_ before work the next day for publishing.

While Crowley had been uninterested in helping with the essays, Michael had agreed to help. Cas had also found an ally in Anna Milton, who had agreed to write. Their plan had been to write a total of twenty-five essays between them, but with Cas’ total already at ten, it seemed they would be writing many more.

*~*~*~*~*

When the last vote they needed for ratification of the Constitution came in, Cas felt all the tension he’d been holding for the previous year leave him. In six months he had written fifty-one essays, and though only a few of them were published outside of New York, their sentiments had traveled through each of the states.

Cas rushed home that day, feeling lighter than he had in months.

No one was surprised when General Singer was elected President only a few months later. No one but General Singer, that is. He had never been one who wanted to have that kind of power, but when he was informed of the decision, he accepted anyway.

Not long after Bobby was sworn in as President, he stopped by the Novak household for dinner. The children still didn’t quite understand who it was who was sitting in front of them, but Bobby didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed to prefer it.

They made small talk through dinner, everyone seeming content for the time being to keep conversation away from anything with too much importance. Mostly they talked about family and told the same old stories they’d been telling for years. Ben liked to listen to the stories, but he also liked to tell stories of his adventures playing with the other children in the neighborhood.

“I hate to keep you any longer,” Bobby said when they had all finished their meal, “but I would like to speak to Castiel, in private, for a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Cas said curiously. He glanced over at Dean, but Dean looked just as confused as Cas felt. Cas stood from his seat, returning his attention to Bobby. “Follow me. We can speak in my study.”

Bobby was silent for the walk down the hall, and didn’t say anything until the door was firmly shut behind them.

“Is something wrong?” Cas asked.

Bobby sighed. “You’ve heard they’ve asked me to serve as President,” he said.

Cas nodded. “I have.”

“In order to lead, I need to have reliable people working with me,” Bobby continued. “I want you to serve in my Cabinet.”

“Which department?” Cas asked immediately.

Bobby didn’t seem to have heard him. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” he said. “You’d be leaving what you know and working to build something else–”

“Mr. President,” Cas interrupted. Bobby glanced up at him, his slightly annoyed expression the only indication that he knew he had been cut off. “Which department would you like me to run?”

Bobby looked at him for a moment, as if sizing him up and reviewing his decision. “The Treasury Department,” he finally said.

Cas allowed himself a small appreciative smile. “It would be an honor, sir,” he said.

They didn’t talk much longer (there wasn’t much else to say) before Bobby excused himself. He thanked Dean for the meal, thanked the family for their hospitality.

“What was that about?” Dean asked when Bobby had left.

“The new government,” Cas said simply.

Dean furrowed his brow at Cas. He could smell Cas’ excitement, and it didn’t make sense that Cas would downplay it so much. “That’s all?”

Cas looked up at Dean from under his lashes, a mischievous look in his eye. “That’s all,” he said.

Dean decided to let it go, instead focusing on getting dinner cleaned up and the dishes put away. Cas helped him get the children to bed and get all the candles in the house blown out. It wasn’t until they had crawled into bed that Dean brought up the conversation again.

“Was that really all Bobby wanted to talk about?” Dean asked, his voice quiet.

“Yes,” Cas said, but his voice was much more excited than it had been earlier.

Dean propped himself up on his elbow and looked down at Cas. “Alright, what is it?” he asked.

“I’m to serve in his Cabinet as Secretary of the Treasury,” Cas said, his face finally betraying his enthusiasm.

Dean laughed softly. “Well, look at you,” he said. “Working with the President.”

Cas rolled his eyes at Dean’s tone, though he wasn’t annoyed in the slightest.

“You’re not going to forget us, are you?” Dean teased, poking Cas in the ribs. He knew Cas wouldn’t, but he still remembered how focused Cas had been when he had been writing his essays, how he didn’t seem to have the headspace for much else. Deep down, some part of him was worried that Cas would get so caught up in his work that his family would never get to see him.

Cas seemed to catch on to that part of Dean, as buried as it was. But that’s what Cas did – he read Dean like a book, even when Dean thought he had something well hidden. “I could never forget you,” he promised, his expression suddenly serious again.

“I know,” Dean said with a small smile. “I’m proud of you.”

Cas preened at Dean’s praise. He wrapped an arm around his mate and made to pull him closer; a silent question.

Dean’s smile grew and he allowed himself to be pulled down, reveling in the feeling of Cas’ lips against his. “I hope you don’t expect me to call you Mr. Secretary,” Dean said between kisses.

Cas chuckled, the sound drowning in Dean’s mouth. “’Cas’ has always worked just fine, I think,” he said, pulling Dean further on top of him. “But you may call me whatever you want, as always.”

“I think I’ll stick with Cas,” Dean said, his lips moving from Cas’ mouth to his jaw line to his neck. “It’s a good name.”

Cas’ laugh rumbled against Dean’s mouth. “I love you,” he said, the words shuddering against Dean’s skin. “So much.”

“I love you too.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> What'd I Miss?  
> Cabinet Battle #1

**1789**

Abaddon quite liked Charlie Bradbury, even if the other Alpha had some strange ideas regarding the standing of Omegas. Nevertheless, she made sure Charlie’s Declaration was as poignant as it could be before she boarded the ship back to the United States at the end of her run as Ambassador to France.

She didn’t mingle too much on the trip back to America. She simply didn’t see the need to socialize with a boat full of people who were beneath her. She did speak to a few Alphas on board about the state of things in America, if they knew anything. There was one Beta man she couldn’t quite bring herself to totally dislike, so she spoke to him too occasionally.

For the most part the trip was smooth and quick, just the way Abaddon preferred. And being back at her estate in Virginia was a balm to her nerves.

She took a deep breath when she entered the mansion, reveling in the sweet scent of Omega in the air. She stood silently for a few minutes, watching the Omegas who worked in the house go about their business. They worked swiftly and quietly, and if Abaddon hadn’t been watching them and didn’t pay attention to how good they smelled, she would not have even been aware of their presence.

“I need someone to take my things,” Abaddon said, not bothering to raise her voice.

An Omega walked into the room, her head down, eyes trained on the floor. She took the first few bags wordlessly.

“Sally, my dear, you haven’t changed a bit,” Abaddon said, eyeing the Omega with a predatory look.

“Thank you, my Lady,” Sally said, keeping her head down. She didn’t move from her spot or offer any response.

Abaddon _hmm_ ed thoughtfully. “I would like those in my chambers.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Sally said. She hurried off in the direction of Abaddon’s rooms.

Abaddon toured her house leisurely, taking inventory of what had changed in the time she had been gone. She needn’t have worried – everything was just as it had been when she’d departed.

Satisfied, she made her way to her office, where she found a letter waiting for her on her desk. She broke the seal curiously, skimming down the letter, a smile slowly spreading across her face. President Singer wanted her to serve as Secretary of State. And why shouldn’t she? Ambassador to France wasn’t an easy job, and she’d handled it with grace and poise. The Senate had even already approved her appointment.

“Sally dear,” Abaddon called. She was glad her chambers were so close to her study; she’d hate to have to actually raise her voice.

Sally appeared in the doorway a moment later. “Yes, my Lady?” she asked.

“I will need those bags taken back out and repacked,” Abaddon instructed. She knew that by now the bags Sally had put in her chambers would have already been unpacked by at least two other Omegas. “And I will need my finest team harnessed and ready to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes, my Lady, straight away,” Sally said. She turned and scurried from the room.

Abaddon sighed, running her hand over her desktop. What an inconvenience to have to leave before she’d even properly been home, but if she was needed, she was needed. She wrote a quick response to the President informing him that she would be delighted to serve and that she would be leaving for New York straight away. When she had sealed the letter, she sent one of her Omegas on a fast horse to have it delivered. 

The carriage was packed and waiting in front of the mansion only half an hour later, and Abaddon did a cursory check of it as she had with the house. Again, she needn’t have worried; everything was packed neatly, and the horses and carriage were turned out impeccably. She stepped in and made herself comfortable before signaling to the driver that she was ready to go.

“I need to get to Manhattan,” she told him. She leaned back in the overstuffed seat, watching the fields of her estate and the surrounding properties as they rolled across her field of vision. She sighed, leaning against the frame of the carriage. Freedom. She hadn’t had much of a chance to process that they’d won the war before she was sent to France, but now she could feel it. The estates were American now, not British. They were free. And it was a wonderful feeling.

Much like the trip across the ocean, the trip to New York was smooth and quick.

Abaddon had a residence in Manhattan, though she didn’t use it often. She had purchased it not long after the war, just in case she needed to be in the capital of the new United States for any reason. When the carriage stopped in front of the house, Abaddon stepped down gratefully and made her way inside.

This house was not as grand as the estate in Virginia, and Abaddon sighed when she saw its relatively plain décor and layout. She resolved to have it fixed up to be presentable while she had to live there.

She briefly debated inviting a few fellow guests to dinner in order to get a feel for what was going on in the current political climate, but in the end she settled on dining alone, so as to allow herself time to adjust and once again review the documents that had been included with the President’s letter.

The first meeting of the Cabinet was the next day, and Abaddon made sure to arrive early. The building wasn’t as impressive as Abaddon would have expected, but it was pleasant enough, with large windows to allow the air to move in the stifling summer. The foyer was large and open, and crowded with people who would be breaking off any minute now to go to their respective halls.

“Michael, what a pleasant surprise,” Abaddon said when she spotted him. “How have you been, my friend.”

“We have a real mess here Abaddon,” Michael said. “We have a battle for the very soul of our nation.”

Abaddon’s brow creased. “What’s going on?”

“Our Treasury Secretary has proposed a plan that’s nothing less than government control,” Michael explained. “We have to shut it down.”

*~*~*~*~*

Cas thought he should be nervous, but all he could feel was excitement. The first Cabinet meeting was scheduled for later that day, and it would be the first time he met Abaddon, whom he had heard much about. And among the issues to be debated was Cas’ plan for a National Bank; there had been opposition, but he thought at least now he would have a chance to properly defend the plan. He had been preparing his defense for several days, poring over the nuances and possible effects, and the sleep he managed to get between his last few days at the law firm and preparing his Treasury plan was free of nightmares of the war.

“I guess you’re not nervous,” Dean said when breakfast had been cleared away and Cas was preparing to leave.

“How can I be nervous when I’m having such a good week?” Cas asked.

Dean laughed to himself. He’d seen Cas happy in the past several years, but now it seemed different. He guessed it was because Cas finally had a chance to do what he’d been wanting to do his whole life. “Good luck with the debate,” he said.

Cas smiled and crossed the room to him. “A bit of luck has certainly never hurt,” he said. “And luck from you would hurt even less.”

Dean ducked his head, feeling heat creep up his neck. “I don’t know about that.”

Cas reached out and took Dean’s hand. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, pressing a kiss to Dean’s knuckles. “I’ll be home in time for supper.”

Dean smiled at him. “Kick ass.”

Cas shook his head, but breathed a laugh anyway. “Of course.” He gave Dean a peck on the lips before he turned and strode out of the house.

It wasn’t a long walk, and Cas was quick to find the appropriate building. He wove through the people, searching for someone he might know. He noticed Gordon Walker standing just inside the door and vaguely remembered reading about his win in the Senate race for Pennsylvania. Meg Masters and Ruby Cortese were off to one side with Uriel Ward and Raphael Barnes. Cas couldn’t remember where each of them were serving, but he made a note to find out. He did spot Michael across the room, but Michael was talking to a woman Cas had never met before, and besides, they hadn’t been on the best of terms recently. Michael might have wanted a government that was stronger than the Articles of Confederation would allow, but he didn’t seem to want a government as strong as Cas thought was necessary.

Cas didn’t stop to acknowledge Michael, though he could feel the other man’s eyes tracking him. Instead, he wandered around the crowd, stopping occasionally to trade pleasantries with those he knew. At one point he spotted Sam standing at one of the windows.

“Good morning, Senator,” Cas said as he approached him.

Sam laughed and turned to face Cas. “Good morning, Mr. Secretary,” he countered.

Cas wrinkled his nose. “Alright, enough with the titles,” he said.

“You started it,” Sam said with a smirk. “How are things at home?”

“Excellent, I should say,” Cas said. “Dean mentioned over breakfast that he thought it was time you and Jess joined us again.”

“That sounds like something he would say.”

“And how are you and Jess?”

“Good. Great, really,” Sam said. “But I’ll tell you more about that when we join you for dinner.”

Cas tilted his head curiously, but he didn’t get a chance to ask what Sam meant by that; somewhere a clock chimed the hour, and the crowd started to disperse to their appropriate halls.

“Good luck,” Sam said, gripping Cas’ shoulder as he walked past.

“You need it more than I do, I think,” Cas said to Sam’s back. Bobby’s Vice President was a man who preferred to go by ‘Metatron,’ though no one could figure out why, and the Vice President presided over the Senate. Cas did not envy Sam having to deal with him all day.

Cas took a deep breath to steady himself and made his way to the room where the Cabinet meeting was taking place. He nodded to Anna when he saw her, and wished her luck in her debates with the House of Representatives.

Michael was still talking with the red-haired woman when Cas entered the room and found a seat behind a desk on one wall. Bobby was sitting at a desk at the front of the room, shuffling a few papers and making notes.

Cas used the few minutes of silence to orient himself. He had his notes with him, and he spread them out on the desk, making sure they were in order. There was a quill already on the desk beside an inkwell, and a sheaf of papers beside it.

Bobby called the meeting to order just a minute later, thanking everyone for coming. He acknowledged each of them in turn, and Cas learned that the red-head he’d seen Michael with was none other than Abaddon, the woman who had drafted the Declaration. He wasn’t surprised that she was serving as Secretary of State.

It wasn’t until just before lunch that the issue of Cas’ plan for a National Bank was brought up.

“The next issue on the table,” Bobby said, setting a few papers aside and grabbing another one, “is Secretary Novak’s plan to establish a National Bank.” He set the papers down and glanced around the room, waiting for someone to begin.

“If I may, Mr. President,” Abaddon said, half a second before Cas could say anything. 

Bobby nodded and gestured for her to continue. Cas had been about to push himself to his feet, but he sank back into his chair, watching Abaddon cautiously.

“Thank you,” she said. She stood gracefully and stepped from behind her desk. “We fought for the ideals of Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness,” she began. “Certainly we shouldn’t settle for less than that.” She paused and glanced around the room, making sure she had everyone’s attention on her. “This plan calls for the government to assume states’ debts, which of course only benefits Secretary Novak’s own Department.”

“Not true,” Cas said, standing from behind his desk, ignoring the glare he received from Abaddon.

“Don’t try to deny it,” Abaddon said sweetly. “If New York is in debt, why should any other state bear it?” she asked. “Take Virginia for instance. We’ve already paid back our debts from the Revolution. Don’t tax us to cover the losses of another state. I don’t know how recently you have visited my home state, Mr. Novak, but where I come from, we create. Your plan is just to move our money around to the benefit of less…resourceful states.”

Cas felt his temper rising. He hated how sickly sweet this woman was, and how she seemed to have missed the entire point of his plan.

“This financial plan is outrageous, to say the least,” Abaddon continued, making sure to catch everyone’s eye. She paused when her gaze met Cas’, and gave him a vaguely condescending look before she moved on. “I’m sure we all remember just how well it worked for our former King when he taxed us unreasonably. This will of course turn out no differently.”

A few in the room chuckled. Abaddon was clearly satisfied with the speech she had given, and she nodded to Bobby to acknowledge that she was finished.

“Thank you, Secretary,” Bobby said. His gaze traveled to Cas, and he could tell he wasn’t going to enjoy this. “Secretary Novak, you have something you want to say?”

“I do,” Cas said, managing to keep his voice even. He stepped out from behind his desk and made no effort to hide his annoyance. “While I’m sure we all appreciate your _ideals_ , Madam Secretary, they do not provide us with legislation to properly run the nation we have built upon them.” Cas tried not to be too pleased when Abaddon glared at him. He looked around the room to make sure he had everyone’s attention. “If we assume states’ debts, the United States will have a new line of Credit to encourage other nations to trade here.”

Thankfully, Michael and Abaddon seemed to be the only two who didn’t want to hear what he was saying. Cas decided to ignore them for the time being.

“New Credit will allow us to be aggressive and competitive in global trade, and will be a boost to our overall economy, which will help states like Virginia _and_ New York,” he said pointedly. At the last second he decided against mentioning that the only reason Virginia and other states in the south had paid their debts was because they weren’t paying for the labor that was used to keep their plantations in order.

“The _governments_ of the states,” Abaddon said. “Where are individual freedoms in this? It seems to me the government would be overstepping to increase its own power for its own gain. And that sounds an _awful lot_ like the government we spent eight years fighting to free ourselves from.”

At first Cas didn’t bother to look Abaddon in the eye as he spoke, instead addressing her concern to the room at large. “The taxes collected will be used with the consent of the governed through their Representatives and Senators. A far cry from the tyranny of our former King,” he said. “The establishment of the Bank will tie the states to each other and give them incentive to view themselves as connected.” No one spoke in the silence after his words; there was an expectant tension in the air, and no one seemed inclined to break it.

Finally, Cas turned to face Abaddon again, his face hard. “As for your last concern, are you going to lecture me about a war I fought in and you did not, Madam Secretary?” he asked.

Abaddon looked scandalized. “I worked with Congress throughout the war. I would say my contribution is valid.”

Cas felt his anger boil in his chest. “The same Congress that wouldn’t send us the funds and rations we needed to keep an army alive?” he demanded.

Abaddon’s face grew angry, and she opened her mouth as if to protest when Bobby cut her off.

“That’s enough,” he said. “I think we’re finished for today.”

Cas wanted to say something, but he held his tongue. They weren’t finished, he knew that much; he hated to think of what they might have to do to resolve this.

“You realize your plan needs Congressional approval, don’t you?” Abaddon said, intercepting Cas on his way out.

“Certainly,” Cas said, making to step around her.

“You don’t _have_ the votes,” Michael said. He was standing just off to the side, not quite confrontational, but not leaving Cas alone either.

“I’m aware, thank you,” Cas practically growled. He suspected that Michael and Abaddon were planning on blocking his plan, and they didn’t seem keen on making it less obvious that they were.

*~*~*~*~*

Over the next several weeks, the Cabinet met to advise the President on several different matters. Cas’ proposal for the National Bank kept coming back, never quite resolved.

A few times, Cas swallowed his pride and tried to have a discussion with Michael, who at least seemed more willing to compromise than Abaddon did. Michael refused to speak with him each time.

After one particularly heated meeting, Bobby called Cas into a separate office to speak privately.

“Would you pull yourself together?” Bobby said.

“I’m sorry,” Cas said. “But these Virginians are birds of a feather.”

“I’m from Virginia,” Bobby said, his tone warning, “so watch your mouth.”

Cas took a deep breath, steadying himself. “They’re holding Congress hostage; they’re blocking the plan.”

“Then you need to convince more people to go along with it,” Bobby said.

“I’ve _tried_ to talk with Secretary Cohen, but he won’t hear any of it,” Cas replied. “That’s a nonstarter.”

Bobby sighed and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “No one said governing was going to be easy,” he said, half to himself. “You have to find a compromise.”

“We can’t compromise on anything,” Cas said. “They don’t have a plan, they just hate mine.”

“You’re going to have to convince them otherwise.”

Cas could go through a hundred different protests, but he knew each of them could be shot down, and fairly easily. “What happens if I don’t get Congressional approval?” he finally asked.

Bobby shrugged, suddenly looking very tired, like he was prepared to not deal with any of this anymore. “I imagine they’ll call for your removal.”

Cas nodded. He didn’t see a point in arguing with the statement. He also didn’t doubt that Abaddon and Michael had already tried to convince Bobby to replace him. “How do you suggest I go about getting the support I need?”

Bobby shook his head. “Figure it out,” he said.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Take A Break  
> Say No To This  
> The Room Where It Happens

Dean sat with Ben on the bench seat in front of the piano. It was an old instrument, a little beat up, but it worked, and Dean had been more than excited when it had arrived. His playing had been a little rusty, but he’d quickly gotten used to it again. And when Ben said he wanted to learn how to play, Dean couldn’t exactly say no.

Claire and Jesse were sitting in the den, Claire with a book open and pointing to the words as she read them so Jesse could follow along, though Jesse seemed to be paying more attention to the notes coming from the piano than to the words on the page.

“One more time,” Dean said, repositioning his hands back at the beginning of the melody they’d been practicing. He counted out the notes again, his fingers dancing along the keys.

Ben replayed the melody, an octave higher. He played the ascending notes perfectly, but when the melody descended again, he changed the last few notes.

Dean rolled his eyes. He knew Ben was changing the notes on purpose, but he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to correct him. And why should he? It was a practice piece – just a bunch of notes strung together so the player could warm their hands up.

When Cas came home just a minute later, it was clear how exhausted he was. He’d been working overtime to read through different bills and proposals for discussion at his meetings, though the reading wouldn’t have been so bad if he didn’t spend just about every free moment he had working on his own proposal. Still, he perked up when he saw his family.

“I trust everyone had a good day?” he asked. He lifted Jesse up into his arms when the toddler stood and practically ran over to him.

Ben and Claire started talking at the same time, and Cas couldn’t help but smile at them. “Alright, alright,” he said after a moment, effectively cutting them off. “Over dinner then. But first, I believe it’s someone’s birthday.” He stepped over to where Ben was sitting and wrapped him in a hug with his free arm. “Happy Birthday Ben.”

“I learned how to play a new song,” Ben said proudly. “I want to play it.”

“Of course,” Cas said, trying to suppress a laugh when Ben gave Dean a pointed look and Dean stood from the bench with a roll of his eyes. When he recognized the song, however, he felt his jaw tighten even as he let himself laugh.

“What’s so funny?” Ben asked, his face falling.

“Nothing,” Cas assured him. “That was very good. I just hadn’t heard that song in a long time.” He shot a look at Dean, since he was sure Dean had taught their son to play _Yankee Doodle_ on purpose; while Cas had tried to keep most of the details of the war out of his letters to avoid upsetting Dean, he had mentioned that song often because of how much the soldiers liked to sing it.

“Dad said they sang it when you won the war,” Ben said proudly. “I wanted to learn how to play it for you.”

“Thank you Ben. That’s very sweet of you,” Cas said.

“Alright, I think it’s time we got to dinner,” Dean said, jerking his head toward the dining room.

“Do I have to help set the table, since it’s my birthday?” Ben asked.

“Yes,” Dean said, “but you don’t have to help clean up.”

Ben sighed heavily, as if this was too much work for a boy of nine years. “Fine,” he said. He stood from where he was still sitting at the bench and made his way to the dining room, following behind Claire.

“You taught him that song on purpose, didn’t you?” Cas asked, stepping over to Dean. Jesse squirmed in his arms and he let him down, watching as he ran after his siblings.

Dean put a hand over his chest dramatically. “ _Me?_ ” he asked. “I would never do such a thing.”

Cas chuckled to himself; he knew he shouldn’t expect Dean to know what kind of memories that song would stir up. “Whatever you say,” he said, wrapping an arm around his mate and kissing his forehead. “Do you need help bringing the food in?” he asked.

“No, I got it,” Dean said. “Just make sure they don’t hurt themselves.”

Thankfully Ben and Claire were perfectly capable of setting a table on their own, though Cas did have to make sure Jesse didn’t run under anyone’s feet while the food and cutlery were being set out.

Ben and Claire started talking over each other again almost as soon as everyone had food on their plates, so for much of the first half of the meal Dean and Cas had to referee who got to talk when.

When Ben and Claire had finally each finished with what they wanted to say, Dean spoke up. “So I got a letter from Jo today,” he said, glancing around the table. Everyone had perked up at Jo’s name; it took so long for correspondence to get across the Atlantic that it had been a while since they had heard from her. “She says hi.”

“That’s an awful lot in postage for just one word,” Cas teased.

Dean laughed at him. “No, that’s not all,” he said. “She wants to come home to spend the summer with us.”

“If she comes, can we go stay with Grandma?” Claire asked, suddenly excited.

“I don’t see why not,” Dean said. Mary had been living at the estate in upstate New York for the past couple of years; she seemed to prefer the quiet of the countryside since John had passed away. “We just have to let her know we’re coming.” Dean gave Cas a look when he realized Cas wasn’t giving him any kind of response to the offer.

“That sounds nice,” Cas said, not quite looking at Dean.

Dean waited to ask him about it until the children had been put to bed for the night. “Do you not want to spend time with Jo?” he asked.

“No, I do,” Cas said. “There’s just so much work to do.”

“Come on, this trip is still a few months away,” Dean said. “And it’s been years since we’ve been up for a visit. Not since Claire was little. I’m surprised she even remembers it.”

“I know,” Cas said. “And it’s tempting, but…”

“We can go up to the lake again,” Dean offered, stepping closer to Cas. “You know we had a good time out there.”

“Yes, I know,” Cas said fondly, a small smile on his lips. He closed the space between them and leaned his forehead against Dean’s. Truth be told, he’d give anything to be able to take a break, but he knew that if he left Abaddon and Michael to their own devices while he still didn’t have the approval for his proposal, they’d find a way to have him removed by the time the summer ended. “I will try to get away. That’s all I can promise for now.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Cas, get out here,” Dean called. “Jo’s going to be here any minute.”

Cas sighed, rubbing his temples. He was sitting in his study, poring over three different bills he had to know for his next meeting. He’d already told Dean he wasn’t going to be able to join them upstate, but he wasn’t sure Jo knew, and it wasn’t a conversation he was looking forward to having. Still, he shook his head to clear it and made his way out to the den.

“Dean, she lived here for several weeks,” Cas said when he saw Dean was still straightening the room. “The place doesn’t need to be spotless.”

“I know,” Dean said, pausing only momentarily. “But I haven’t seen her for almost two years and I’m too excited to sit still, so sue me.”

“I will do no such thing,” Cas said. He could tell Dean was trying to figure out if he was going along with the joke or if he had missed it completely, but when he started to help Dean with straightening the room out, Dean seemed to let it go.

There was a knock on the door just a few minutes later, and Dean went to get it almost before Cas had registered that there had been a knock.

Dean yanked the door open in a way that probably would have been embarrassing if anyone other than Jo had been standing there. “I missed you,” he said, immediately wrapping her in a hug.

“I missed you too,” Jo said, returning the embrace.

They stood there like that for a moment until Cas cleared his throat from behind them. “Why don’t you come inside?” he offered.

Dean rolled his eyes, but pulled away from his sister and led the way back to the den.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of a proper greeting,” Jo said to Cas, hugging him before he could take a seat.

Cas chuckled. “It’s good to see you too, Jo.”

“Where are the kids?” Jo asked, glancing around at the empty den when she took a seat.

“Jesse’s taking a nap upstairs,” Dean said, “and Ben and Claire are out and about with the other kids on the block. They’ll be home in time for dinner.”

“I bet they’re excited to get away for a while,” Jo said.

Dean shot a look over at Cas, and Jo didn’t miss it. “What’s going on?” she asked, suddenly concerned.

“Would you please tell him that even _Metatron_ spends the summer with his family?” Dean asked, looking away from Cas and over at Jo. “I can’t seem to get through to him.”

“In making that argument, I’d like you to keep in mind that Metatron doesn’t even have a _real job_ ,” Cas countered.

“Wait,” Jo said, glancing between the two of them. “Cas, are you not coming with us?”

Cas shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t join you.”

“Why not?” Jo asked, her posture deflating with her disappointment.

“I have to get this plan through Congress,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’ll be the death of me, but I have to do it.”

“But I came all this way,” Jo protested. “And we haven’t been together as a family in so long.”

“You _need_ a break, Cas,” Dean said earnestly. “And besides, Sam can’t come with us because Jess _just_ gave birth and you can’t expect a pup that young to go anywhere. Adam’s with his mate in South Carolina and they can’t get away. Would you really have it just be me and Jo?”

“And the pups and your mother and Donna,” Cas pointed out. “You’ll hardly be alone.”

“Congress will still be here when you get back,” Jo countered.

“But my position in the Cabinet won’t be if I can’t get this plan through,” Cas said.

Jo rolled her eyes. “Quit being dramatic. You haven’t done anything worth impeachment, and you know it.”

Cas shook his head. “You haven’t seen the two who are determined to get me out of their way.”

Dean’s expression fell. “You really aren’t going to come with us?” he asked in a voice that suggested that until that exact moment, he’d believed they could convince Cas to take the trip.

The sound broke Cas’ heart.

“Let me think,” Cas said, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees. He leaned his head in his hands and thought through what he might be able to get done. There was a way – of course there was a way – to get Abaddon and Michael to listen to him. He didn’t want to do it. He’d have to swallow his pride – hell, he’d have to smash it into little pieces – but he thought he might be able to get everything done in time to take a holiday.

Cas glanced up at Dean and Jo from behind his hands to find them watching him expectantly. He sighed and sat back. “Alright,” he said. He held a hand up to stop whatever it was Dean was about to say. “I won’t leave with you this week,” he added, “but you can expect me there next month.”

Dean was beaming at him, and Cas supposed that made the hell ahead of him worth it.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas hadn’t slept in a week. Or maybe he had and he couldn’t remember. Since his family was upstate, he used nearly every second he was free to work on everything that needed to be done. He thought on more than one occasion that he probably just should have left with Dean and Jo and the pups – Cabinet be damned.

A knock sounded at the door, and Cas debated pretending he wasn’t home. When a knock came again – this time more urgently – he grumbled to himself as he went to get it.

As soon as he pulled the door open, his nose was assaulted with the scent of distressed Omega, and every instinct he had screamed at him to _protect_. He didn’t even really know the woman standing in front of him, but he did recognize her from up the block.

“Mrs. Reynolds?” Cas asked, hoping he didn’t look as caught off guard as he felt. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, her voice small and quick. “I just don’t know where else to go.”

“Come in, please,” Cas said, stepping aside to let her enter. He led her to the den and offered her a seat. “What’s going on?”

“It’s my mate,” she said. She wrung her hands together in her lap nervously. “He’s been…not the best.” She let a small, anxious laugh escape her lips and tugged at her sleeves; Cas caught sight of what looked like a bruise under the fabric as she adjusted it. “And suddenly he’s up and gone, and I don’t have the means to go on,” she said.

Cas stopped her before she could make herself even more upset. “Let me help you,” he said. “Wait here.” He made his way to his study and pulled open one of the drawers on his desk. He had to dig under some old papers, but he found the cash he kept rolled there, in case of an emergency. He peeled off several bills before he stuffed the rest of the money back in the drawer. Then he found a scrap of paper and scribbled an address on it, hoping Crowley wouldn’t be an ass when a distraught Omega showed up at his office.

“To help you get on your feet,” Cas said as he walked into the den, offering the money to his guest. She took it with a surprised look, like she hadn’t really been expecting him to try to help her. “And to help you with the situation with your husband,” he added, handing her the slip of paper.

“What’s this?” she asked, reading the words scrawled across the paper.

“The address of a law firm downtown,” Cas said. “I have a friend who works at that office who I think will help you.”

“You’re too kind,” she said, sounding both grateful and confused.

“It’s nothing,” Cas said. “Would you like me to walk you home? Or would you prefer if I found another place for you to stay?”

She looked up at him with an expression Cas couldn’t quite place. “I think home will be okay,” she said with a small smile, standing to follow him to the door.

“After you,” Cas said, holding the door open for her.

She only lived a block away, so the walk wasn’t far. Cas didn’t ask her any other questions about her situation; it didn’t seem like something he should be prying into unless she wanted to tell him. Instead, they walked in silence until she stopped in front of one of the houses and said, “This one’s mine.” She started to head up the walkway, and paused. She glanced back at him. “Would you like a cup of tea? As a thank you?”

“I would, thank you,” Cas said, following her up the walkway into the house. He knew he should be getting back to his work, but he’d been staring at pages of paper for so long that he felt he deserved to sit somewhere else, at least for a little bit. Besides, he’d been awake so long that some caffeine would be greatly appreciated.

“Do you have a preference on your tea?”

“Not particularly,” Cas replied with a shrug. He glanced around the kitchen and could only imagine how Dean would react to having so much space. The thought made him smile.

“Do you take honey?”

Cas snapped back to the present and shook his head. “I don’t take anything in my tea, thank you,” he said, taking the teacup when she offered it to him. They didn’t say too much as they sat and sipped their drinks, and Cas had to admit that he did feel much lighter after he’d finished it.

“I should be going,” Cas said, setting his empty teacup down and standing from his seat. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He glanced down when he felt her hand catch his arm.

“You could stay,” she said, her voice soft.

Cas was suddenly aware of a new scent in the air, and it caused discomfort to settle heavily in his gut. “No, I really should get home,” he said, gently taking his arm back. “You caught me in the middle of some very important work, and I would really rather get back to it.”

“Oh. Okay,” she said, looking crestfallen. Even so, she stood and walked him to the door. She didn’t try, beyond one last pleading look, to make him stay.

“I hope everything works out for you,” Cas said as he headed out the door.

“Thank you,” she said. She closed the door behind him without another word.

Cas hurried home. He had had every intention of getting back to his work, but when he stepped across the threshold, he couldn’t seem to find it in himself to continue to pore over the papers any longer. Instead, he made his way upstairs and changed into his bedclothes, even though it was only early afternoon. When he crawled in bed, he held Dean’s pillow close to his chest, still able to smell Dean on the fabric.

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley wasn’t sure why he had taken the case – sure, there was a precedent for compelling someone to separate from their mate (even if that mate _was_ an Omega), but the last thing Crowley really needed was another case to work on.

He was out for a walk after work one day when he caught sight of Cas hurrying down the sidewalk. “Castiel,” he called.

Cas pulled up short and looked around for a moment before he focused on who had said his name. “Crowley,” he said. “How are you?”

“I had a woman come in the other day looking for me specifically,” Crowley said, his voice sounding almost suspicious.

“Is that not a preferable situation for you, Crowley?” Cas deadpanned, shifting on his feet.

“She said she came on your recommendation,” Crowley said.

“Ah, Mrs. Reynolds,” Cas said, nodding. “Did you take the case?”

“I did,” Crowley said. “Do you mind explaining why you recommended me?”

“You’re not incompetent?” Cas asked, as if he weren’t sure that was the correct answer.

“Novak!”

Cas turned at the sound of his name, and Crowley followed his gaze to see Michael Cohen at one of the houses up the street, watching them. Unless Crowley was mistaken, it was Abaddon’s house.

“I’m sorry Crowley. I have to go,” Cas said, looking back at Crowley for half a second before he started in Michael’s direction.

“Wait, what-”

“Decisions are happening over dinner,” Cas said by way of explanation. He didn’t say anything else as he continued down the street.

Crowley didn’t think he could remember any instance since the Constitution was ratified in which Michael, Castiel, and Abaddon had willingly been in a position to make any kind of decision together. He was half tempted to go up to the house and ask what was going on, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t be allowed in.

He resolved to ask around the next day to find out what had gone on, but he wasn’t confident in getting any answers.

*~*~*~*~*

“Hey, did you hear what happened with the Cabinet?”

Crowley perked up at the question, though it wasn’t directed at him. It had been a few days since he had run into Castiel, and he had been wondering what had gone on with his dinner party ever since. He was in his office at work with the door open to try to get the air to circulate through, and he had been about to tell the guys next door to keep it down so he could concentrate. He was glad he hadn’t.

“No, what happened?”

“The Secretary of State says that that Novak guy practically _begged_ her for help on some plan.”

“You’re kidding?”

“I’m not! She put together a whole dinner just to discuss whatever it was.”

Crowley furrowed his brow, confused. He’d never known Castiel to beg for anything. And Abaddon wasn’t exactly the type to offer assistance.

“Do you think that has anything to do with Novak suddenly backing _Virginia_ as the location of the capital?”

“Could be. That would make more sense than him just suddenly deciding Virginia’s a better option than New York.”

Crowley sat up straight in his chair and stared straight ahead, certain he must have heard that wrong. Castiel had always advocated for New York City to remain the capital, and it had been Abaddon and her friends in Congress who had suggested Virginia, naturally. Something else had to be going on, and Crowley was determined to find out what it was.

He left work at lunch that day and made his way determinedly toward the Novak household. He seemed to have made it just in time because Cas’ old charger was tied out front, now almost completely white with age, tacked and waiting with saddle bags tied securely in place. The horse watched Crowley approach.

“Crowley,” Castiel said when he spotted him, locking the door to the house before making his way down the walkway. “If you’d come any later I’d already be on my way upstate.” He paused as he untied his horse, glancing up at Crowley, who hadn’t yet spoken. “What can I do for you?”

“What did they say to you to get you to sell New York City _down the bloody river_?” Crowley demanded.

Castiel’s jaw set, and he turned his attention back to untying his horse.

“Did Singer put you up to this?” Crowley asked. “Hmm? The President need something done?”

“I am not at liberty to discuss what transpired during the meeting I had with my fellow Cabinet members,” Castiel said, his voice carefully neutral.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at him. “What was the plan Abaddon helped you with?” he asked.

Castiel gave him a strange look. “The National Bank,” he said, as if that should be obvious.

Something clicked into place in Crowley’s mind. “Is the Bank going to be based in New York?”

Castiel didn’t answer, instead checking his girth and making sure his stirrups were adjusted correctly.

“You got more than you gave,” Crowley said, almost as if he were accusing Castiel of something.

“But I wanted what I got,” Castiel countered. “Someone will always love you for what you get done, and someone will always hate you for it. But nothing happens if you wait for something to come along.” He gave Crowley a pointed look and swung aboard his horse. “You have to pick a side.”

Crowley didn’t bother to say anything else as Castiel rode away from him. He knew he had to be wary in politics, but he also knew that he wasn’t going to be able to just sit around and let those in charge make decisions he wasn’t allowed to be aware of; he’d have to find a way to be a part of the decisions that were made.


	17. Chapter 17

The ride to the estate took three days. Cas knew he could have made it in two, but he wasn’t about to push a twenty year old horse that hard, even though the extra time drove him half out of his mind.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the city, the air was cooler and quieter. The silence had Cas on edge, especially riding by himself.

It was a relief to ride up to the gates to the Winchester estate, which stood open proudly in the mid-afternoon sunshine. Cas could see the children playing in front of the house, throwing a stick for a pair of retrievers. Cas smiled at them, though he was sure they didn’t notice him as he rode Balios down to the stables.

The stable master, a gruff old Alpha, greeted him when he rode up, offering to take the horse.

“I’d rather take care of him myself,” Cas said, waving off the man’s offer. He made quick work of untacking and grooming the horse before he turned him out in a large field beside the barn. The stallion hadn’t been out in such a large pasture since the last time they’d made the trip upstate, and he immediately kicked up his heels as if he were a yearling again.

Cas smiled to himself and retrieved his bag, making his way back toward the house. The dogs noticed him before the children did, and they started barking and ran up to him with the children close behind.

While Cas was pleased to see them, he couldn’t say he was prepared to be ambushed by three children and two dogs, and he had to take a step back so they wouldn’t knock him over.

“You made it!” Ben said, wrapping his arms around him.

“I did,” Cas said. “I’m glad to see you all.”

“You should play with us!” Claire said. She released her grip on him and picked up the stick that one of the dogs had dropped at their feet. She threw it as hard as she could and watched the dogs chase after it.

“Maybe later,” Cas said. “I need to get my things put away, and I’ve had a long ride.”

“Tomorrow?” Claire asked.

“Tomorrow,” Cas promised. He disentangled himself from his children and made his way up to the house. Most of the windows were open to let the breeze in, and Cas could smell something cooking. He wasn’t sure whether he should knock on the door, but since he knew they were expecting him, he walked in and called out to let everyone know he was there.

Donna made her way to the foyer just a moment later, wiping her hands on her apron. “It’s nice to see you Castiel,” she said.

“It’s been too long,” Cas agreed.

“The others are in the drawing room,” Donna said. “I can take your bags so you can join them.”

Cas shook his head. “I can take my own bags; you have enough to do,” he said. “Are Dean and I in the same room as last time?”

“Sure are,” Donna replied. “Unless you want to be somewhere else.”

“No, I like that room,” Cas said.

“You remember where it is?”

“How could I forget?” Cas smiled at her before he turned to the stairs and made his way up. Even though it had been a few years since he’d been there, it wasn’t difficult for him to find the room. The bed was unmade, and Cas’ smile widened when he saw it; it reminded him of home.

He dropped his bag quickly and made his way back downstairs to the drawing room. From halfway down the hall he could hear laughing and conversation, and it sounded like Jo was telling stories about what she had been up to in London. Cas waited until Jo had finished her story, not wanting to interrupt.

When there was a break in the conversation, Cas stepped into the doorway and knocked on the doorframe.

They all turned to look at him at the same time, but Dean was the first to stand. “Cas,” he said, a grin spreading across his face. He crossed the room to his mate and wrapped his arms around him.

“You’re early,” Mary said as she and Jo stood to greet him. “We weren’t expecting you for at least another week.”

“I know,” Cas said. He squeezed Dean once before he pulled away. “But Dean was right; I needed a break.”

“Did you get your plan through?” Jo asked. “Or did you come to your senses and leave it for when you get back?”

“I found support for it,” Cas said. He didn’t want to explain further, and really he had no reason to. “It should pass before we get back.”

“You got that done in two weeks?” Jo asked, sounding impressed.

“I did,” Cas replied. Dean had taken his hand and led him over to the sofa where he had been sitting. “Sam is helping to keep it on track while he can’t be here. But please, this is supposed to be a break. Can we leave talk about work for when we get home?” He sat heavily, and threw his arm around Dean when Dean leaned against him.

“Jo, tell him about when you ran into Charlie,” Dean said.

Jo rolled her eyes, as if this were not the first time Dean had asked her to retell this story. Still, she turned her attention to Cas and dove into her tale.

*~*~*~*~*

Dean could not begin to explain how excited he was that Cas had managed to get upstate so soon. He couldn’t even find it in himself to care how Cas had managed to get his plan through so quickly when he’d been stuck with it for months.

In that first week, Cas was always in bed when Dean woke up. The first few mornings he had even still been asleep, and Dean had been grateful that Cas was able to sleep peacefully on his vacation. On those days he had stayed in bed reading until Cas woke up, as if he needed to stay and keep watch.

The first time it happened, the first morning after Cas arrived, Cas woke slowly, trying to remember where he was and why he wasn’t at home. He rolled over to find Dean sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard, reading a book as casually as if this were a regular occurrence.

“Mornin’ sleeping beauty,” Dean said when he noticed Cas staring up at him. He marked his place in his book and set it down. “I guess you slept well.”

Cas _hmmm_ ed and scooted closer to Dean, wrapping an arm around Dean’s legs and resting his head on Dean’s lap. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too.” Dean smiled down at Cas and ran a hand through his hair. He felt Cas sigh against him, his eyes closed. “Go back to sleep.”

“As long as you’re here when I wake up,” Cas said, his voice thick with sleep.

“Of course,” Dean said. He wasn’t sure if Cas heard him.

For the first week Cas was there, everything was normal. They took walks around the grounds, took Ben and Claire on trail rides while Mary and Jo led Jesse around on one of the ponies and taught him how to ride. They even managed to get away, just the two of them, for a picnic up by the lake – about a half-hour ride away.

“When was the last time we went and did anything – just you and me?” Dean asked. They were sitting on the lakeshore, the water lapping at their feet.

Cas thought a moment, trying to piece together a timeline. “Do you mean like now, or would a ball count?”

“Like now. No other people.”

“Would that be when we left Ben and Claire with Sam and Jess and spent the weekend on Long Island? Just after I got home from Annapolis?”

“When was that?”

“Three years ago? Maybe four.”

“What about before that?”

“The last time we were here.”

“Before that?”

“When I was home for those few months during the war, I think.”

Dean chewed the inside of his lip thoughtfully. “We don’t do much.”

“We have three children and I work with the President,” Cas pointed out. “There’s only so much we _can_ do.”

“I know,” Dean said. He sounded disappointed.

“Hey,” Cas said, leaning over to bump his shoulder into Dean’s, “we also had the ball last New Year’s. And Kevin’s wedding. And Jody hosted dinner for her former aides–”

“That one doesn’t count because we brought Ben.”

“He was barely a year old.”

“He was still there. Doesn’t count.”

Cas sighed, going for exasperated. He couldn’t stop his smile when Dean elbowed him in the ribs. “Fine, doesn’t count,” he ceded. “What about when your mother took Ben and Claire to brunch with her while she was in the city visiting and we had the house to ourselves for a morning?”

“We didn’t go anywhere.”

“We were alone.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “ _Fine_ , we do things,” he said, trying, and failing, to suppress a laugh. “I just wish we could do more.”

“We’re here now,” Cas said. He leaned back on his hands. “And every year from now on we’ll do something, just the two of us.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good. I want to go to France.”

“Yes, we’ll drop everything and leave the children with your mother or Sam for at least three months so we can take a ship to Europe,” Cas said, giving Dean a slightly confused look.

“I’m not saying next year or anything,” Dean said. “Later. Maybe when they’re all on their own and you’re retired and we _can_ just drop everything if we want to.”

“Of course,” Cas said. He thought for a moment, remembered just after the war when Charlie mentioned they were always welcome at her home. And Jo’s stories about the people and places that were so different and exciting to be around. “When it’s just the two of us, we’ll take a trip to France. A whole year if you want.”

“What if I want to stay longer?”

“At what point do you just tell me you want to move to France?”

Dean laughed and leaned against Cas. “I don’t want to move to France,” he assured him.

“That’s a relief,” Cas said. He wrapped his arms around Dean and laid down, pulling Dean with him. “I quite like New York.”

“Hey! Let me go,” Dean said, trying to wriggle out of Cas’ grasp. He’d been pulled down into a rather uncomfortable position. When he managed to free himself, he sat up and found Cas smiling up at him. “What?”

Cas just shrugged, folding his hands over his stomach and closing his eyes.

“Are you going to sleep?”

“Yes, I think so,” Cas said.

“We just ate lunch.”

“I’m full. I’m warm. We have nothing to do,” Cas pointed out. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a nap in the middle of the day.” He opened one eye to glance up at Dean. “Care to join me?”

“What if we aren’t back in time for dinner?”

“I would hope that someone would come looking for us,” Cas said. “They know where we are. The kids have the ponies and the dogs to keep them entertained. And the friends they’ve made in town. I’m sure Jo and your mother and Donna are having a grand old time with them.” He paused, considering something. “I just hope no one’s taught Ben polo. We’d never hear the end of that.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Okay,” he said. He stretched out beside Cas so their shoulders were touching. “But if we miss dinner I’m blaming you.”

“Of course Dean.”

The next few days were much the same. The ventured into town a few times for dinner or for a play, or played with the children, or simply sat on the lawn reading, enjoying each others’ company.

But after a couple weeks had gone by, Dean woke up twice to an empty bed and a letter on the bedside table saying Cas had gone out for a walk. When he tried to ask about it, Cas gave him the same answer he’d been giving for the last decade. It grated on Dean’s nerves that Cas wouldn’t give him a straight answer, but Cas had always had a defensive look to him when he mentioned the nightmares, and Dean could never bring himself to press too much for information.

Sometime after they’d been upstate for about a month, Dean woke in the middle of the night, seemingly for no reason. He was on his side, facing away from Cas, and he was about to roll over when he became aware that Cas was trembling. Dean froze in place, trying to take stock of the room to find out what could be wrong. It took him a moment to realize that there was nothing out of the ordinary about the room, and then another to realize Cas smelled _terrified_ , and he was half a second away from doing something about it when he felt Cas sit bolt upright, panting.

Dean remained still, trying to figure out what was going on by sound alone. He heard Cas’ breath coming in wet gasps, but it sounded like Cas was doing his damnedest to keep quiet. For a few seconds everything was still and silent, save the occasional puff from Cas.

Dean turned his head slowly and glanced at Cas out of the corner of his eye, trying not to spook him. He needn’t have worried about Cas seeing him – Cas was hunched over, his face buried in his hands, every muscle in his body stiff and strained and unrelenting.

“Cas?” Dean asked. As soon as he spoke, he could see every bit of tension leave Cas’ body, though his scent didn’t change. Dean felt an ache in his chest when the thought hit him that Cas must have had practice with forcing himself to give the appearance of calm.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice far more level than Dean would have expected. He lifted his face from his hands, but didn’t look at Dean. “I’m sorry if I woke you,” he said.

Dean was sitting up now, leaning as close to Cas as he dared to try to get a look at Cas’ face. “Cas, what’s wrong?”

“Just a nightmare. Nothing more,” Cas said, still not looking over at Dean.

“Bullshit,” Dean said. He put a hand on Cas’ shoulder to force him to look at him, but instantly regretted it when Cas flinched and recoiled from his touch. Dean took his hand back as quickly as he could. “Cas, _please_ , what’s wrong?”

Cas just shook his head, his jaw tightening again. There were tears in his eyes, and he looked like he might shake apart any second. “I should go,” Cas said stiffly, swinging his legs out of bed.

Unfortunately for Cas, Dean was used to keeping up with three young children, and he managed to get out of bed and in Cas’ way before Cas could make it to the door.

“Dean, get out of my way,” Cas said, sounding more upset than angry.

“No,” Dean said, standing up straighter. “You have been avoiding this for ten years, Cas. Please just let me help you.” The look on Cas’ face made Dean wonder if he had been leaving in the middle of the night for walks so he could fall apart without waking anyone; Dean had _never_ seen Cas so close to losing control over himself.

“You can’t help me,” Cas said, his voice hard, and his helpless tone cut Dean like a knife. “Nothing can help me, do you understand? Not with what I see.”

“What you see _isn’t real_ ,” Dean said. He forced himself to stand his ground, even though every instinct in his body told him to get the fuck out of the way. “They’re _nightmares_. They can’t hurt you.”

Cas shook his head, covering his face with his hand. His shoulders started to tremble, but he didn’t make a sound. It was a strange look on Cas, who, as far as Dean knew, had never tried to hide from anything.

Dean wanted to help, but he didn’t dare reach out again. Instead he just stood, waiting, though he wasn’t sure for what. It was almost a relief when Cas finally moved, taking half a step toward Dean and leaning forward, his head lowered. Dean was quick to close the space between them and wrap his arms around Cas’ shoulders, holding him as close as he could. He felt Cas’ arms close around him like a vice, and Cas buried his face against Dean’s neck as if he could hide there from whatever it was he was afraid of.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they stood there, but eventually Cas’ hands and arms loosened their grip, and his breathing evened out to something resembling normal.

“I’m sorry,” Cas finally said, his voice muffled against Dean’s skin.

“’S okay,” Dean said, rubbing a hand over Cas’ back.

“I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,” Cas said. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s not your fault,” Dean said, though he had to admit that the apology made him feel better.

Cas didn’t say anything in response. He stood in the circle of Dean’s arms for another minute or so before he took a deep breath and gently pulled away. “You should get back to sleep,” he said, not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“Whoa, hey, you’re not leaving,” Dean said, taking a hold of Cas’ wrist.

“I need to move,” Cas said.

“Then let me come with you,” Dean offered. Cas finally glanced up at him, but he looked away just as quickly. “You can’t keep doing this by yourself, Cas.”

Cas stood quietly for another moment before he nodded. “Let’s go,” he said.

They changed quickly into their day clothes and left a note in the kitchen for Donna in case they weren’t back in time for breakfast before they made their way out of the house. Dean kept throwing glances at Cas, but Cas refused to say anything.

“Let’s go for a ride,” Dean said. He took Cas’ hand in his and led the way down to the stables. Cas didn’t protest.

They readied their horses in silence – Cas his grey stallion, and Dean an old bay gelding that had been born at the estate when Dean was only ten.

Cas’ mood hadn’t improved very significantly by the time they mounted up and started toward the wooded trails behind the house.

Dean had been on early morning trail rides several times in his life, and he never liked to disturb the peace by talking. But he couldn’t just keep quiet with Cas looking so broken.

“This horse was supposed to be a racehorse,” Dean said, stroking the gelding’s neck. “But when they started running him in a group, he was never fast enough to win.” Dean glanced over at Cas, who at least seemed to be paying attention. “Since he wasn’t going to be any good as a racing stallion, dad had him gelded and turned him into a carriage horse instead.”

They rode in silence for a few minutes, and Dean hoped Cas would say something, anything. When Cas remained quiet, Dean continued. “When I presented, my dad wouldn’t let me ride any of the really good horses, but he never had a rule about the carriage horses, as long as they were ready to go when we needed them. So I would sneak down to the barn early in the morning and ask the stable master if I could ride this one. And if we weren’t going to need him that day, I would take him for a ride in the woods before breakfast.” Dean scratched the gelding’s withers fondly. “So I guess this is just like old times.”

“What’s his name?” Cas asked, his voice quiet and a little hoarse.

Dean shrugged. “Dad only ever named the racehorses. But we’ve always called this one the Old Man.”

Cas managed to crack a smile. Dean noticed.

“We can’t all name our horses after Greek myths, Cas,” he said.

Cas was quiet a moment. “From that story, I think he would have to be Pedasos, wouldn’t he?” he asked, a bit of humor returning to his voice.

Dean had to think a minute to remember what the hell even happened in that story, but when he did, he laughed. “Sure. Pedasos,” he said, patting the horse’s shoulder.

The silence as they continued on their ride was lighter than it had been, but Dean kept throwing uncertain glances over at Cas, afraid he’d be upset by something again.

Dean hadn’t had a destination in mind when they’d set out, but soon he found himself following Cas into the clearing by the lake. When Cas drew Balios to a halt, Dean stopped his horse beside them, dismounting when Cas did. They untacked the horses and let them loose in a small paddock by the lake before they sat on the shore.

“During the war,” Cas started, then stopped. He picked at the grass beside him, but his eyes remained trained on the far shore. “There are some things you can’t unsee.” He was quiet a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I won’t give you details, because you don’t deserve that. But I saw soldiers – my friends – in situations I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.”

Dean wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure there was anything he _could_ say, so he opted for keeping his mouth shut.

“They were so _broken_ ,” Cas continued. “All of them – _us._ They couldn’t… We– There was nothing to be done.”

“Cas,” Dean said, reaching out tentatively. He stopped his hand before he could touch Cas’ arm, not wanting to cross whatever line there might be. He realized with a start that Cas was crying, and it was the first time Dean could remember seeing actual tears on Cas’ cheeks, in all the years they’d been together.

Cas managed to get control of his voice and said, “When I close my eyes, I see them.” His hand went to his side, almost unconsciously, to the jagged scar that a British bayonet had made. “And there’s nothing I can do.”

Dean didn’t want to know who ‘them’ was (though he had a feeling ‘they’ were everyone). He wanted to say something, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to say anything that was _really_ comforting.

Cas finally glanced over at Dean, and a pained look crossed his face. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve tried to keep it away from you.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Dean said, scooting closer and wiping quickly at his eyes. “You shouldn’t keep it to yourself.”

Cas shook his head. He hid his face in his hands again and leaned against Dean.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and held him close, just letting him deal with whatever was going through his head. He rubbed his hand over Cas’ back and told him over and over again that it was okay, even though he was sure it wasn’t. But it was all he could think to say, and Cas didn’t tell him to keep quiet.

They stayed like that for a long time, until Cas finally drew back and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I’m okay,” he said, and he did sound better, though he looked exhausted.

“Why don’t we stay here for a while?” Dean offered. “The sun should be coming up soon. We don’t have anywhere to be.”

“I’d like that,” Cas said, taking Dean’s hand in his. “I’d like that a lot.”

As the sun started to creep over the horizon, Dean stretched. “I think I’m going to go for a swim,” he said, glancing over at Cas as he pulled his boots off. “Care to join me?”

“I think a swim would be nice.”

When they had removed their clothing, they waded into the lake. Dean paused when the water came up to his knees, but Cas walked right in, seemingly unaffected by the chill in the water.

“How do you do that?” Dean asked, wrapping his arms around himself, even though the cold was confined to his legs.

“I fell in the water during our winter at Valley Forge,” Cas replied. “Nothing’s cold after that.”

“Guess not,” Dean said. He dug into the mud with his toe, watching the silt shift in the water.

“Are you going to join me?” Cas asked. He was standing up to his shoulders in the water, his hair dripping wet.

“Give me a second,” Dean said. He managed a few more steps before he shuddered to a halt.

“You’ll adjust faster if you just jump in,” Cas said.

Dean glared at him, but steeled himself anyway and took a big step forward, letting his knees buckle as he moved. As soon as his head was under, he shot back up, grabbing on to Cas almost without thinking about it. “Holy shit.”

Cas wrapped Dean in his arms, a small smile on his face. “Better?” he asked, rubbing a hand over Dean’s back in the water.

“Shut up,” Dean said. He held his arms close to his chest, trying to keep as many parts of his body warm as he could. He glanced up at Cas to find Cas smiling at him. But there was still sadness there, and Dean wasn’t sure whether it had always been there and he hadn’t noticed, or if Cas had finally decided that he wasn’t going to hide the fact that he was still bothered by what had happened. Dean’s expression softened and he brought his hands up to cup Cas’ face. “I love you.”

Cas closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Dean’s. “I love you too.”

Dean closed the distance between them almost urgently. He poured everything he had into the kiss, trying to show Cas what he couldn’t tell him. And Cas responded with the same amount of force, until they were clinging to each other desperately. Dean could taste tears on his tongue, but he wasn’t sure if they belonged to him or Cas.

They ended up tangled together on shore, letting the early morning sun dry them off.

*~*~*~*~*

For the rest of the trip, Cas was always in bed when Dean woke up, whether he was still asleep or he had woken in the middle of the night. Sometimes he woke Dean up, and Dean would hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay.

Cas hadn’t realized how much he needed that – to let someone else comfort him. It was something he’d never had, and it was a pleasant reprieve from having to constantly make sure everyone else was taken care of.

He could tell Dean was watching him more closely now, keeping an eye out for anything that might be upsetting. The children had liked to sing _Yankee Doodle_ , but Cas found they were singing it less and less (at least around him), and he was sure Dean had something to do with it. Not that he minded.

On one of their last days upstate, the entire family went into town for dinner. The children made several complaints about having to leave, and while Cas was inclined to agree that staying upstate would be pleasant, he was more than ready to get back home and back to work.

“Well I’ll be damned.”

Cas’ head whipped around at the familiar voice, and he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Victor Henriksen crossing the room to him.

“Henriksen, it’s good to see you,” Cas said, standing to greet his old friend.

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” Henriksen said, shaking Cas’ hand firmly.

“Everyone, this is Victor Henriksen,” Cas said, turning back to his family. “We served together during the war. Henriksen, this is everyone,” he added, going around the table to make introductions. “What brings you upstate?”

“I work with the state legislature,” Henriksen said. “Just took a couple weeks to come out here for some time off.”

“If you have nowhere to be, why don’t you join us for a bit and catch up?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Henriksen said, holding his hands up and already making to step away. “I just had to make sure I was actually seeing Castiel Novak. And I wanted to congratulate you.”

“On what?” Cas asked, creasing his brow in confusion.

“Did you not see this morning’s paper?” Henriksen asked. “There was something about a plan for a National Bank that had passed the House a couple weeks ago. The Senate approved it two days ago. It said that was your idea, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” Cas said, and it came out almost like a question in his surprise.

Henriksen rolled his eyes. “Anyway, good for you for getting that through. I’ll leave you to your dinner. It was good to see you again.”

Cas stood, frozen to the spot, until he felt Dean tug at his hand. He glanced down, and felt a grin split across his face at the pride in Dean’s eyes.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Schuyler Defeated  
> Cabinet Battle #2  
> Washington On Your Side  
> One Last Time  
> I Know Him
> 
> Bonus*:  
> Schuyler Defeated  
> Let It Go  
> Washington On Your Side  
> One Last Ride
> 
> * all of these are from the presentation (yes, even Let It Go)

**1794**

It was cold outside, but it was warm enough in the house. Dean had just finished with bringing in the last of the wash and he started making his way to Cas' study to find something to read for once.

It was a Saturday, and the kids were all out and about with their friends. Cas had been sent for that morning to go into a meeting that apparently couldn’t wait until Monday, so Dean had the house to himself for at least a little bit before Cas came home. He had decided to forego the chores he had to do before dinner and take some time to read for once.

He had just sat down in the den with one of his favorite novels when he heard the front door open and close. He sighed and leaned his head against the back of his chair.

“Dad?” Ben asked from the doorway. He was nearing thirteen now, an intelligent, headstrong Beta. Dean had managed to hide his relief at Ben’s designation from the children, but Cas had noticed. Luckily he hadn't mentioned it until they were alone, and then didn’t bring it up again afterwards.

“Hmm?” Dean asked. He set his book aside, resolving to read some that night if he didn't get a chance before dinner.

“Have you seen the paper today?” Ben held up a rolled up newspaper with a questioning look.

“Not yet,” Dean said. “Anything exciting?”

“Someone's running against Uncle Sam for the Senate,” Ben said. He walked further into the room, unrolling the paper as he went to show his father.

Dean furrowed his brow and leaned forward to get a look at the page Ben was showing him. “I thought he was unopposed,” he said curiously.

“Not according to the paper he isn't” Ben said.

Dean scanned the article quickly, and a surprised look crossed his face. “Crowley?” He sat up straighter, skimming the article quickly. He pushed himself to his feet. “I need to find your father.”

“Why?”

“He's not going to like this,” Dean said.

“How come?”

“He and Crowley have known each other a long time,” Dean explained. He made his way to the entryway and pulled his shoes on. “Not always in a good way.”

“Can I come?” Ben stepped forward, somewhere between uncertain and curious.

Dean hesitated for half a second before he nodded. “Sure. Let's go.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Crowley,” Cas said, spotting the other man on his way home from work. When he caught up to him, he asked, “Since when are you a Democratic Republican?”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “I should have known that’s what this would be about,” he said with a long-suffering sigh. “No ‘good luck?’”

“You  _changed parties_ ,” Cas said. “No one knows who you are or what you do.”

Crowley waved the statement away. “They don’t need to,” he said. “They don’t like you.”

“ _Excuse me_?”

“Look,” Crowley said, with exaggerated patience. “You might have Wall Street’s support, but that’s because you helped create it. Upstate? They aren’t so fond of you. They aren’t pleased with you for trading away the capital. And they know Samuel Winchester helped get that plan of yours through. So I took a shot at gaining their support.”

Cas shook his head. “I’ve always considered you a friend,” he said.

A confused look crossed Crowley’s face. “I don’t see why that has to end,” he said.

“You changed parties to run against my brother in law,” Cas said.

“No, I changed parties to seize the opportunity I saw,” Crowley countered. “Your pride is going to be the death of us all, you know that?”

“Cas! There you are.”

Cas spun toward the voice, blinking in confusion when he spotted Dean and Ben walking toward them. “Dean?”

“I was wondering why you hadn't come back for lunch,” Dean said when he was close enough. When he stopped beside Cas, his gaze slid to Crowley. “Crowley, sir, it's been so long.”

“Dean,” Crowley said, inclining his head.

“How's your family?” Dean had angled himself between Cas and Crowley, with Ben just behind him.

Crowley's face fell marginally. “As a matter of fact my wife has taken ill.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” Dean said, “though I can't say I'm surprised with this cold that's going around. You'll send her our regards?”

“I will.”

“And how's your daughter?”

Cas had finally caught up enough to pick his jaw up off the ground. He was trying to follow the conversation, and he wondered idly when Dean had gotten so good at small talk. And when he had learned Crowley had a daughter.

The smallest of smiles crossed Crowley's face. “She's good. My pride and joy,” Crowley said. “One of the smartest in her class.”

“So am I,” Ben chimed in, peaking around Dean.

Crowley glanced down at Ben, as if he hadn't noticed previously that Ben had been there. He looked back up at Dean. “She's the same age as your boy, if I remember correctly.”

Cas opened his mouth as if to say something, but Dean cut him off.

“We really should be going, sir, but give your girls our best,” Dean said, turning slightly and firmly taking Cas' arm.

“Nice to meet your son,” Crowley said.

“This isn't over Crowley,” Cas said, posturing slightly as Dean tugged on his arm.

“I'd listen to your mate,” Crowley said, nodding toward Dean. He and Cas stood facing each other until Cas finally relented to Dean and turned to follow him.

Two blocks from the house, Ben spotted a couple of his friends and ran to join them, almost without a parting word.

“Dean, what was that?” Cas asked just as the door shut behind them. “What were you doing downtown?”

“That was me saving you from yourself,” Dean said. He toed his shoes off in the entryway and made his way back to the den.

“I can't let him do what he's doing,” Cas said, following Dean in.

“That's too bad,” Dean said. He picked up his book and took a seat in his chair, thumbing to where he'd left off. “We live in a Democracy.”

“Crowley is going after Sam's seat  _specifically_ because of his connection to me,” Cas said. “Because we're  _family_.”

“I understand that.”

“You'd let Crowley use me as leverage to go against your brother?”

Dean sighed and marked his place again. He gestured for Cas to come closer, and when Cas knelt beside the chair, Dean cupped his hands on either side of Cas' face and forced him to hold his gaze. “Cas, let it go. Don't make our personal situation into a political one, please.”

“But-”

“I don't care if that's what he's doing,” Dean interrupted. “You don't need to bring a gun to a knife fight, okay? This isn't a life or death situation. Let. It. Go.”

Cas only managed to hold eye contact for a few seconds before he dropped his eyes.

“I'm sure Sam would appreciate you sticking up for him, but he can stick up for himself, you know?”

“I know,” Cas said.

“Good,” Dean said. He dropped his hands and turned his attention back to his book. “Now go take a nap or something. You smell like you're about to kill someone.”

Cas stayed holed up in his study for the rest of the day, trying to keep his mind off of the election. He didn't like the thought of being the reason Sam could lose his Senate seat, but if Dean insisted he stay out of it, he figured he should avoid the topic, since he had a habit of carrying too much of his work with him.

By the time Cas could smell dinner cooking, he'd managed to get a hold of himself. When he made his way down to the kitchen, he found Ben and Claire reading and writing in the den, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Jesse was practicing his scales on the piano. Cas smiled at them, but aside from a brief greeting he didn’t interrupt them on his way through.

It was hot in the kitchen, despite the chill outside. If this were summer, Cas knew Dean would never have let up about the heat, but with the light snow that was falling outside, Dean's lips were sealed.

“Don’t you think it’s a little warm in here?” Cas asked, walking up behind Dean and rubbing his shoulders.

“Oh bite me,” Dean said.

Cas chuckled and nipped at Dean’s earlobe.

“So  _now_ you’re going to take me literally?” Dean asked, shoving Cas lightly. “You’re an ass.”

“And I’m all yours,” Cas said with a smile.

“At least you're in a better mood.”

Cas just shrugged.

“How was the meeting this morning?” Dean asked, changing the subject.

Cas sighed. “It was a mess, really,” he said. “But it usually is.”

“Abaddon again?”

Cas nodded. “And Gordon Walker. He was appointed Secretary of War. Had I told you that?”

“You might have,” Dean said with a shrug. “But you mention so many people I can’t keep them all straight.”

Cas thought back, but he couldn’t remember if he’d mentioned it or not. He shrugged. “In any case, we have to debate a war with France on Monday,” he said, sounding tired.

Dean glanced over at him, a look of concern spreading across his face.

“I’ll be fine, Dean,” Cas said, before Dean could mention what he was thinking.

Dean nodded, accepting that for now as he went back to what he was doing. “Is it the issue that’s been in the paper?” he asked.

“It is,” Cas confirmed. “It makes me worry about Charlie.”

“Yeah.” Dean glanced back at Cas for just a second before looking away again. “Maybe you should write to her.”

“I should,” Cas agreed. He moved beside Dean and started helping with chopping vegetables to go with their dinner. “Why don’t you tell me when you learned how to make small talk?”

“What?”

Cas shrugged. “The way you spoke to Crowley today. When did you learn how to make small talk?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You think I just sit around here all day?” he asked, giving Cas a sideways look. “I do have friends you know.”

“I didn’t mean–”

“I know what you meant.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Dean worked in silence for a few seconds before he continued, “I’ve always known how to make small talk. It was just usually with my mom or Jo or Adam. And then I had to learn how to make friends because it wasn’t like I could be with you with all the politicking and not know how to interact with other people.” He shrugged. “It’s a survival skill.”

“And how did you know Crowley has a daughter?” Cas asked. “He mentioned a child to me once and we never brought up family again.”

Dean gave Cas a questioning look. “Lisa and I have brunch every couple of weeks, and Lisa is friends with Billie.”

“Who?”

“Crowley’s wife. Geez, you really don’t know anything about the guy, do you?”

“I guess not personally, no.”

“Anyway, Lisa mentions Billie and Theo every so often.”

“Theo?”

“Crowley’s daughter. It’s short for something, but it’s been a while since I heard the full name.”

“Are there any other secrets of people’s personal lives that you’re keeping?” Cas asked, only half joking.

“Those aren’t secrets,” Dean pointed out. “I know a lot about people, but no secrets. As far as I know.”

Cas made a thoughtful noise and went back to what he was doing, considering this new information. He paused when a new thought struck him. “You were quick to get between me and Crowley.”

Dean looked up, but only briefly. “Yeah, and?”

“When we go out together, to nearly any event, you don’t say too much,” Cas said thoughtfully. “I suppose that’s why I assumed you don’t make small talk.”

Dean shrugged. “When we’re together, no one expects me to speak. Hell, when I’m just in public no one really expects me to speak.”

“And with Crowley today?”

“Honestly? I wanted to make sure you didn’t shoot each other.”

“You think we would?”

“Well, you’re an ass,” Dean said with a nod. “And Crowley’s a dick.”

Cas tilted his head curiously. “Do you talk like that in front of the children?”

Dean snorted. “If you think they haven’t heard people talking like that, then you really haven’t been out in the real world,” he said. “And no, I don’t.” He glanced over at Cas. “I  _can_ control myself, you know.”

“I know,” Cas said with a small smile. He could still remember when Dean wouldn’t talk like that around  _him_ , when Dean was still worried that Cas would treat him the way other Alphas used to – the way other Alphas still did, if the way he spoke was anything to go by.

“What’s with the look?” Dean asked after a minute or so. “What are you thinking about?”

Cas shrugged. “Just that I love you.”

*~*~*~*~*

Bobby wasn’t going to enjoy this; he could already tell.

For the last several years, Castiel and Abaddon had been at each other’s throats, and while Bobby respected each of their opinions in their respective fields, he was always about half a breath away from initiating a duel just to get them to cut the crap.

He saved what was likely to be the most aggressive debate for last, though he knew he was only postponing the inevitable; he could see that they had each been chomping at the bit for this issue since they started.

“Our final issue for the day,” Bobby said, regaining everyone’s attention. “France is on the verge of war with England. Should we provide aid and troops to our French allies, or should we stay on our side of the pond? Remember than my decision on this matter is not subject to Congressional approval; the only person you have to convince is me.”

Abaddon was quick to stand from her seat before Cas could begin. “The decision is simple, really,” she said. “When we were fighting for our independence, we signed a treaty with France.” She shot a glare at Cas, as if he were going to interrupt her for bringing up the war again, as he had several times over the years. “In return for their aid, they didn’t ask for land or money – all they asked was that we stand with them if they fought against oppressors. Now we know from experience that revolution is messy, but we must honor the treaty we signed and fight with our brothers as they fight against tyranny.” She said it in a way that suggested this should be obvious to everyone in the room, and her pointed look in Cas’ direction said she believed that even he was included in that sentiment.

When Abaddon retook her seat, Cas stood slowly. “What is going on in Europe is messy, as you pointed out, Madam Secretary,” Cas agreed. “And in that mess, France has lost its Royal Family. The King we signed a treaty with is deceased, and the treaty dies with him. He signed it on his own behalf, not on the behalf of his people, as we did. Without him, the treaty itself is useless. And we can’t afford to get mixed up in something like that.”

“He signed on behalf of his government,” Abaddon countered. “The government still exists.”

“In what state?” Cas fired back. “It’s in shambles. Without the monarchs, the government itself is effectively useless.”

“Mr. Secretary, while your insight is invaluable, I feel compelled to point out that you are Secretary of the  _Treasury_ ,  _not_ Secretary of State,” Abaddon said, an air of smugness about her. “Your expertise does not lie in international affairs.”

“Maybe not,” Cas ceded, “but I have more  _military_ expertise, and that does appear to be the issue on the table, doesn’t it?”

“An issue for the Secretary of War, then,” Abaddon said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Not Secretary of the Treasury, in any case.”

“I have to agree with Secretary Novak on this,” Gordon said. He met Abaddon’s gaze calmly when she rounded on him. “We run the risk of destroying ourselves if we interfere.”

Cas was impressed that Gordon had spoken up in his defense. They hadn’t ever been more than acquaintances, and Cas had expected Gordon to be far more hawkish on the matter. But Gordon had been there all through the revolution as Cas had, and Cas wondered if maybe it had affected him similarly.

“In order to remain on good terms with the French, we  _must_ fight alongside them,” Abaddon insisted, losing a bit of her composure.

“Enough,” Bobby said. He could feel the tension in the room reaching a boiling point, and he would prefer not to be anywhere near it when that tension was finally ran over. “I have to agree with Secretaries Novak and Walker.”

Abaddon turned a hurt and confused look on Bobby. “Mr. President–”

“We’re too fragile to start another fight,” Bobby said.

“But,  _sir_ , do we not fight for freedom?” Abaddon asked. It sounded like she had to remind herself to address Bobby as her superior.

“When the French figure out a system of government that isn’t going to collapse in on itself, then we can consider fighting with them. They need to find someone to lead them.”

“The  _people_ are leading.”

“The people are  _rioting_ ,” Bobby countered. “There’s a difference. And it’s unsettling to think that you would let your ideals blind you to what’s really going on.” He pushed himself back from his desk. “This meeting is adjourned,” he said.

Abaddon caught Cas by the door on the way out. “Have you forgotten Charlie Bradbury, who fought beside you all those years ago?”

“ _What_?” Cas demanded.

“Don’t you regret this?” Abaddon pressed. “You’ve accumulated debt and power for yourself and your Department, but in their hour of need, you abandon your friends and allies.”

“First of all, Charlie’s a smart woman. She’ll be fine,” Cas said. He’d always hated when people tried to use his loved ones against him, and that didn’t seem to have changed as he felt his anger flare again. “And before she was your friend, she was mine. I’m sure she’d understand that if we tried to fight in every revolution in the world, we’d never stop. Where are we supposed to draw the line?”

“So quick witted,” Abaddon said dryly.

Cas nodded once and tried to step around her.

“Someone should remind you,” Abaddon said, catching Cas’ arm, “that you’re nothing without Singer behind you.”

“Good day, Abaddon,” Cas said, jerking his arm away from her and heading toward the door.

Abaddon shook her head in disgust. Still, she couldn’t help but feel a pit of jealousy in her gut at how easy it was for Castiel to sway the President to his side.

“I’ll never understand how he does that,” Michael said, coming up behind her.

“He has divided us against each other,” Abaddon said, “even regular citizens, what with Wall Street taking advantage of the poorest citizens who live on a day to day basis, just to line their own pockets.”

“There has to be a way to knock him off his high horse.”

“He’s asking for someone to bring him to task,” Abaddon agreed. “Do you know if anyone has anything on him?”

Michael frowned. “As far as I know he’s been clean in the public eye. Aside from doubling the size of the government.”

Abaddon made a face. “And some people agree with that,” she said, not bothering to hide her disgust. “And creating a national debt.”

“It’s unconstitutional. And if we don’t stop what he’s doing, that makes us responsible.”

Abaddon’s mind worked through a thousand different possibilities. They’d already had the capital officially moved to the Potomac (it was now just a matter of waiting for construction to be finished), and she didn’t have a problem with dismantling the National Bank; as far as she was concerned, the Bank had always been a grab for power that wasn’t allowed by the Constitution.

“I could resign,” Abaddon finally said.

“Resign?” Michael stared at her, not bothering to hide his shock. “You’d let him get away with it?”

“Not at all,” Abaddon replied, calming as she accepted her decision as the wisest move. “There’s an election coming up. If the President won’t do something about the schism in our government, then I’ll just have to do it myself.”

Michael seemed to be catching on to her train of thought. “If we can secure certain votes in the electorate, you’d be nearly guaranteed the Presidency,” he said. “You wouldn’t even need luck to get it accomplished.”

“Yes we would,” she said. “Novak won’t like it. And if he can hold a pen, he’s a threat.” Abaddon paused for a moment, a considering look on her face. “Unless we discredit him.”

It only took a second or two for the confused look to leave Michael’s face. “You mean –”

“It’ll still take work to make it to the Presidency,” Abaddon said, maintaining her composure. “Especially if President Singer runs again.”

“He won’t,” Michael said. When Abaddon gave him a curious look, he shrugged. “He asked me to write a draft of his farewell address. He’s not running again next year.”

Abaddon made an impressed noise. “One less obstacle, then.”

*~*~*~*~*

It was just after their meeting for the day, and the heat hadn’t let up in the slightest as Cas made his way to Bobby’s office. He knocked twice on the door before he heard the invitation to enter.

“Mr. President,” Cas said as he entered. “You asked to see me?”

“I know you’re busy,” Bobby said, not looking up from whatever it was he was writing.

Cas waved him off. “What do you need, sir?” he asked. Bobby didn’t answer at first. “Sir?”

“I want to give you a word of warning,” Bobby finally said.

“Warning?” Cas asked, caught off guard. Then he rolled his eyes. “Sir, whatever you’ve heard, I’m sure Abaddon has something to do with it.”

Bobby finally glanced up at his guest. “Abaddon resigned her seat this morning.”

Cas blinked at him, waiting for the punch line. “You’re kidding.”

Bobby shook his head. “I need a favor,” he said.

“Whatever you need,” Cas said. “Abaddon will regret her behavior as Secretary of State.”

“That’s not what I called you here for,” Bobby said, sounding tired.

Cas furrowed his brow. “Sir, we have to address her behavior. Just imagine the damage she could inflict agitating from the outside.”

Bobby shook his head. “At some point you have to learn to listen to the whole story before you start jumping to conclusions,” he said, finally putting his pen down and giving Cas his undivided attention. “She’s running for President next year.”

Cas scoffed. “Good luck defeating you, sir.”

“I’m stepping down,” Bobby said, only just managing to mask his amusement when Cas gave him a dumbfounded look. “I’m not running for President.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I need you to draft an address for me,” Bobby continued, as if Cas weren’t still trying to get his surprise under control. “Michael wrote the first draft, but I’d like you to take a crack at it.” He drained the glass on his desk before he refilled it from a whiskey bottle he kept under his desk. “Did you want any?” he asked, holding up the bottle.

“What is this about?” Cas asked, declining the drink.

“I told you,” Bobby said, replacing the bottle and reclining in his chair. A thoughtful look crossed his face. “I’d like to talk about neutrality, I think.”

“Sir, with Britain and France on the verge of war, is this the best time–”

“I want to warn against partisan fighting,” Bobby continued, either because he hadn’t heard Cas’ protest or because he was choosing to ignore it. He lowered his gaze to Cas, who was still watching him. “I called you in here to write,” Bobby said, gesturing to the pen and ream of papers on the desk. “I want to talk about what I’ve learned in helping to create this country.”

“As far as the people are concerned you have to serve,” Cas pressed. Even so, he picked up the pen and pulled the papers toward himself, jotting down notes as they spoke. “There’s nothing in place to say you can’t remain President.”

“No,” Bobby said forcefully. “This address will be the last time they hear from me.”

“They’ll say you’re weak,” Cas said, even as his pen flew across the page. “They’ll say you couldn’t handle the stress of leading, just like King Lucifer said we wouldn’t be able to govern without the Monarchy.”

Bobby shook his head. “That’s what the address is for.”

“It’s such a unique position,” Cas tried.

“So I’ll use it to move the country along,” Bobby countered. “Listen, everywhere else, they have a King or a Queen for that ruler’s lifetime. I have helped build this government as much as anyone else has, but it needs to learn to live without me, just like it’ll need to learn to live without all of us.” He shrugged. “And I’m old. I’ve been through two wars and the founding of a new country. I’d like to rest for a while.”

Cas’ pen hesitated over the page, and he met Bobby’s gaze. They sat like that for a long time, until Cas finally nodded and started writing.

*~*~*~*~*

It was nearing midnight when Cas finally made his way to bed. He thought he finally had Bobby’s farewell address finished, and he had a draft for an essay on the Presidential election nearly completed. Between those projects and his regular work, he hadn’t had a problem keeping his promise to Dean to keep his opinions on the Senate race out of the public eye, even though Crowley essentially had the election won.

Cas stripped out of his day clothes almost silently and slipped under the covers as gently as he could to avoid jostling Dean. The room was cool, but it was warm under the covers.

“You’re in late,” Dean said quietly, rolling over to face Cas.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you,” Cas replied.

“Wasn’t asleep,” Dean said with half a shrug.

“What’s the problem?” Cas asked immediately, his brow furrowed in concern. He searched Dean’s face for some kind of clue; ever since Cas had gotten home that day, Dean had seemed preoccupied, but he hadn’t given any indication of what it might be about, and he hadn’t made a move to draw Cas aside after the children had gone to bed.

“People are talking about you,” Dean said, “and not in a good way.”

“Do I want to hear what they’re saying?”

“I don’t know, do you?”

Cas gave Dean a dry look, and Dean grinned back at him anyway. Cas rolled his eyes. “Fine. Yes.”

“They’re saying you’re trying to reinstall the King here,” Dean said, the humor draining from his voice. “Some people believe you’re succeeding.”

Cas’ brow creased. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Disappointing.”

“I heard one person say they don’t trust you because no one knows where you’re really from.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to provide the exact location of my birth in order to gain a person’s trust.”

“I never said they made sense.”

“No, I guess you didn’t.”

“Hell, Samandriel said someone told him you’re Bobby’s illegitimate son.”

Cas drew back in confusion. “Well I’m someone’s illegitimate son, but not Bobby’s,” he said.

“I know that.” Dean ran a tired hand down his face. “I told him as much. And he wouldn’t believe me until I told him that I’ve known Bobby since I was a kid and he never went down to the Caribbean, _and_ he was never the promiscuous type anyway.”

Cas sighed. “I’m sorry you have to defend us,” he said, reaching out to brush his thumb over Dean’s cheek. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“I’ll be defending you for the rest of my life, I’m sure,” Dean said. He reached his own hand up to cover Cas’.

“Why didn’t you say something when the children went to bed?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged. “You were going into your office to work. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Cas shook his head with an affectionate smile. “I appreciate your concern, but please tell me. You shouldn’t sit here awake until all hours just to wait to talk to me.”

“Didn’t seem that important,” Dean said.

“Of course it’s important,” Cas said. “You’re always welcome to interrupt me.”

Dean was quiet a moment. He shifted closer to Cas and wrapped an arm around him. “Where do you think these rumors are coming from?”

“If I had to hazard a guess, I would think they’d come from someone who would want to discredit me,” Cas said thoughtfully.

“You think Abaddon’s doing it?”

“I’m trying to keep her from becoming President,” Cas said simply. “I’d want to discredit me too.”

“By spreading lies?” Dean asked skeptically.

Cas shrugged. “She has to lie about me. I don’t have to lie about her.”

Dean shook his head. “I’ll leave the political nonsense to you,” he said. He pulled the blankets up higher around his shoulders and burrowed closer to Cas.

*~*~*~*~*

Lucifer wandered through his gardens, enjoying the early morning sunshine. It was bordering on cold, but the cold had always been more natural for him than the heat had, and besides, sunny days were few and far between at this time of year, and he was going to get out and enjoy it, even if there wasn’t much growing in the gardens at this point.

He had been hearing some interesting stories from the United States, and he couldn’t quite understand why President Singer would willingly yield his title to someone else. And frankly, he was quite sure there was no one else over there who was qualified to take over the title.

“Sire.”

Lucifer turned at the voice, vaguely annoyed at having had his thoughts interrupted. “What is it?” he asked.

“We have word of who the new American President will be.” Lucifer’s advisor stood tall and formal, delivering the news in an almost bored tone.

“Who is it?”

“A man who goes by Metatron,” the advisor said, his bored mask twitching once. “I’m afraid I can’t remember his full name, sire.”

Lucifer didn’t hear the last part – he’d caught on the name. “Metatron?” he asked, trying to jog his memory. “I know him.”

“Yes, sire. He was here on behalf of their government some years ago.”

Lucifer waved the advisor away and considered the new information curiously. He remembered it must have been 1785 the last time he came across Metatron, when the latter had come over to negotiate some trade deal or another. Lucifer smirked to himself. “They’re going to eat him alive,” he said to himself, a kind of morbid satisfaction coming over him. Lucifer had to admit that Singer had left some large shoes to fill, and Metatron didn’t strike him as the kind of man who would be able to fill them.

“They’ll tear each other into pieces,” Lucifer said, bordering on giddy now. “Oh, this  _will_  be fun.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> The Adams Administration  
> The Election of 1800

Castiel couldn’t say he _liked_ who had been elected, but Metatron was certainly preferable to Abaddon. Unfortunately, Abaddon had secured the second highest number of votes, and was therefore the Vice President. If any vote in the Senate came to a tie, she’d get to break it, and Cas worried about what she would vote for and against.

“Singer can’t help you anymore,” Abaddon said, the first time she saw him after the election. She had a smug look on her face that made Cas’ blood boil. If she had any support as Vice President, she might be able to get herself elected President in the next election. Cas didn’t know if he’d be able to block her twice.

“You worry too much,” Dean said one night, not long after Metatron was sworn in. He was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, rocking six-month-old Emma in his arms while Cas cleaned up dinner.

“I don’t doubt it,” Cas said. “But I’m not a fan of our President, and I’m less a fan of his Vice President. It might not be a pattern, but so far the Vice President is replacing the President.”

“Cas,” Dean said. “It’s going to be okay.”

Cas sighed, putting the last of the dishes away. “I know.”

“And you still have your job in the Cabinet,” Dean pointed out.

“Yes I do,” Cas said. Personally, he thought he would have chosen an entirely new Cabinet upon taking over the office of the Presidency, but he’d decided to let Metatron figure out on his own that perhaps the Cabinet Bobby had chosen was suited only to Bobby.

“And you have your children,” Dean said.

“Who could forget?” Cas replied, now smiling.

“And then there’s your health.”

“Are you going to continue to list things I should be grateful for?”

“That depends,” Dean said, a sly grin on his face. “Do I need to continue?”

“Yes,” Cas said as he crossed the room to Dean and knelt beside his chair. “You’ve forgotten perhaps the most important one.”

“No, I already mentioned the kids,” Dean said, his brow furrowed.

Cas shook his head with a fond smile. “I should hope you would think I rank _you_ as high as I rank them.”

Dean ducked his head. “I don’t know.”

“Well I do,” Cas said. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Dean.”

“You mean that?” Dean asked, glancing up again.

“Of course I do,” Cas said. He’d been saying it for years, after all. “You’ve been nothing short of everything I’ve needed since the day we met.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was a mess the day we met.”

“So was I,” Cas said. “But in the seventeen years since then, you’ve helped me clean mine up. I only hope I’ve helped with yours as well.”

Dean chuckled and nodded. “Now you’re just sweet talkin’ me.”

“I’m not,” Cas insisted. “I would never say anything to you that I didn’t mean.”

*~*~*~*~*

To say Cas didn’t get along with Metatron would be an understatement.

For several months, the two butted heads during Cabinet meetings, and they spent nearly as much time debating with each other as with everyone else.

Cas grew increasingly frustrated with Metatron in the seat of the President, and a few of his fellow Cabinet members shared his view. Even after only a year with Metatron in office, they had plans for who they would back in the next election cycle.

It didn’t take long for Metatron to figure out that his Cabinet was working against him, and over the course of one week he had each of them replaced with a group that would work with him.

Losing the Cabinet seat really didn’t bother Cas too much. He had expected to be let go as soon as Bobby stepped down, so the extra few months had been more of a bonus anyway. No, what bothered him was the way Metatron referred to him in correspondence – as nothing more than a Caribbean bastard.

Cas had known – more than twenty years prior he had known – that people took one look at him and wrote him off. Even with Abaddon's campaign to discredit him, he had had enough positive experiences since the revolution that he had almost forgotten the feeling of people viewing him as worth less than the dirt under their feet. Metatron’s remarks brought those memories rushing to the surface, and they cut him to the quick.

He hated to think that Abaddon might be right, but he had the feeling that she had a point about Bobby’s favor boosting his standing, even with everything he had accomplished on his own. He had a feeling she had more to do with that than he was even aware of.

Cas took a week off from doing any kind of work, deciding it was time he had a break since he’d been working nearly constantly for the last several years.

“What am I supposed to do with you here all the time?” Dean asked, the second day Cas was home. Cas was reclining in his chair in the den with a book that had seen better days.

“Whatever it is you usually do,” Cas said with a shrug. He glanced up. “I’ll help, or I’ll stay out of your way.”

“What if I don’t want either of those things?” Dean asked, stepping into Cas’ space.

Cas tilted his head thoughtfully and set his book aside. “I suppose I could make a mess of things, if that’s what you want.”

“You know, sometimes I can’t get whether you really don’t get it, or whether you’re being an ass.”

“Sometimes I can’t tell either.”

“So which is it?”

“I think I understand what you mean.” Cas stood and rested his hands on Dean’s hips, closing the remaining distance between them. “Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.”

“No, I think you get it,” Dean said. He pressed closer to Cas until their bodies were flush and their lips met in a slow, lazy kiss.

It had been a while since they’d had significant time to actually be alone together, and Dean felt himself melt against Cas. He had no complaints about Cas sinking back onto the chair and pulling him onto his lap; each touch was slow and lingering and Dean could almost physically feel the time since the last time they’d gotten to savor every piece of each other.

About ten minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Dean and Cas both froze, hoping they had misheard. But the knock came again just a few seconds after the first.

“I suppose I should get that,” Cas said.

Dean groaned, but he stood anyway, readjusting himself. He tried not to pout too much.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Cas promised, squeezing Dean’s hand as he walked by.

“I hope so,” Dean grumbled.

Cas gave him an affectionate smile, pulling the door open. He tilted his head curiously when he recognized who it was. “Benny?”

 “Castiel, how’ve you been?” Benny asked. Then something in his expression changed. “I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

“Not quite,” Cas said, throwing a sideways glance at Dean, who rolled his eyes. “What can I help you with?”

“I came because I need to call in a favor.”

Cas could have laughed, and he almost did. “You hold on to your favors for quite a long time,” he said, stepping aside and gesturing for Benny to enter. Cas glanced over at Dean, who was staring at him with a confused look. “This is Benny. He led the supply wagons during the Revolution. When General Singer sent me home – what was it, almost twenty years ago? – Benny took a detour through New York to haul my things back for me,” Cas explained. “I said I owed him a favor.”

“It’s a big favor,” Benny warned.

Cas gave him a curious look. “Well, spit it out.”

“We have a position we need filled, and you seemed like the best candidate.”

Cas’ brow furrowed and he glanced over at Dean, whose confusion didn’t seem to have gone anywhere. Cas thought he might be wearing a similar expression. “What kind of position?” he asked, sliding his gaze back to Benny.

“Inspector General of the United States Army,” Benny said.

There was a heavy silence in the room for a beat or two.

“You’re working for the government now?” Cas finally asked, a smirk on his face. “I wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

Benny shrugged. “It was the best gig in town and I needed a job,” he said. “Will you do it?”

“Yes, I’ll do it,” Cas replied. “But you know you didn’t have to call in your favor to get me to accept. You could have sent a letter like they do with every other position.”

Benny shifted his weight uncertainly, though he kept his expression neutral. “We weren’t sure you’d accept, since you’ll have to report to the President,” he said, and Cas had to admit he had a point. “And I wanted to make sure you got the position; we needed a quick answer.”

“Wanted to make sure _I_ got the position?” Cas asked, tilting his head and squinting curiously.

“On General Singer’s recommendation,” Benny quickly supplied.

“Doesn’t sound like it was just because of a recommendation,” Dean said skeptically.

Benny looked over at Dean, as if he hadn’t really expected Dean to say anything. “Not entirely,” he admitted after a moment. “I’ve got a kid in the Army.” He turned back to Cas before he added, “I trust your judgment more than the other guys’.”

Cas smiled slightly. “I only hope I can live up to your expectations, my friend,” he said.

“So you’ll do it?” Benny asked.

“I’ll do it,” Cas said. “If I can start next week – at the earliest.”

“Done.” If Benny had considered saying anything else, it died in his throat when he glanced over at Dean to gauge his reaction. He pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to Cas. “Everything’s there.”

“Thank you.” Cas stepped around Benny to get the door for him, and when he turned back around, he found Dean nearly pressed against him. “You aren’t subtle,” Cas said dryly, even as his arms wound around Dean’s waist.

“He interrupted,” Dean said with a shrug. “Now where were we?”

*~*~*~*~*

Cas’ only real complaint about his new position was that it required him to be away from home for long stretches of time. The fact that he had to deal with Metatron on occasion, he felt, didn’t count as a complaint about the job because he would have complained about Metatron anyway.

He was away so much that he didn’t get to see Jo for almost two months after she and her mate moved back to New York. He wasn’t there when Claire presented as an Alpha, and he hated to have left her alone when she needed his help. He couldn’t help Ben with the work he was doing to get into law school, though he tried to help as much as he could through letters. In time he was able to catch up on what he had missed, but he felt more aware of his time away than he had when he was younger – as if the relief he’d always felt on returning home were magnified in his chest until he couldn’t contain it anymore.

He was grateful he was only in Pennsylvania when he received the news of Mary’s passing; he would have hated to miss her funeral. He took a week and a half off of work in order to be with his family.

“Do you have to leave again?” Dean asked. It was early morning, and Cas was supposed to ride out in a few hours to continue with the troops in Delaware.

“Just for a few weeks,” Cas promised. “And then I’ll be back here.”

“What if I asked you to stay?”

Cas sighed. “I want to stay,” he said, and he meant it. “But I have to work.”

“What if you came back in two weeks instead of three?”

“Horses can only travel so fast Dean.” Cas met Dean’s gaze and his expression softened. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. I promise.”

Over the next few months, Cas made sure to break up his trips more than he had been, so he was home for a few weeks at a time.

In his travels up and down the coast, he noticed increasing tensions with the French traders who were stopped in port. It intrigued him more than worried him, even though he could smell the hostility in the air (it made him wonder how Charlie was doing). He also noticed that there weren’t any military vessels guarding the harbors, which, given recent news and the general sense of unease at the ports, didn’t seem wise. He included his concern in one of his reports back to the capital.

He was in Maryland at the end of 1799 when he heard the news that General Singer had passed away. He read it in the paper on the same day that he received a letter from Dean bearing the same news. It was a mild winter, and Cas was grateful for the lack of snow that would have kept them away from the funeral.

The funeral was small and plain. The guests were family or close friends. It was the first time in a few years that all four of the Winchester children and their families were present at the same time, and they were all determined not to mention it.

“He never did like a lot of pomp and circumstance,” Dean said, glancing around at the sparse decoration as they made their way out to the cemetery behind the church. There weren’t many faces there he recognized, but he made sure to acknowledge the ones he did. He had Emma balanced on his hip as he walked, and she was looking around curiously, as she had done through the whole service.

“What about that ball he put together that you’re always talking about?” Ben asked. It had been a few years since Bobby had come around to visit New York, but he and Claire and Jesse had fond memories of his visits.

“When you’re fighting a war like that,” Cas said, his expression distant, “sometimes you need a little frivolity to distract you.” He caught Dean’s concerned look out of the corner of his eye and smiled slightly. “It was entirely out of character for him, and it was exactly what we all needed.”

When the procession halted beside the gravesite, any chatter immediately stopped. No one made a sound as the casket was lowered into the hole in the ground.

Cas had the oddest feeling, though he couldn’t place what it was until he spotted Kevin on the other side of the grave, looking solemn. Kevin was alone, and in the almost ten years since the last time they had seen each other, his hair had started to turn grey and more lines etched his face. He smiled sadly when he caught Cas’ gaze, and Cas couldn’t help but be grateful that, even though he and Kevin only exchanged letters once every several months, at least they had both kept in touch with Bobby. Cas closed his eyes and tried not to think.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked quietly, sometime later.

“Yes,” Cas replied, opening his eyes slowly. There weren’t many people around anymore. Kevin had left. “I’m okay.”

“Cas,” Dean said pointedly.

“I mean it,” Cas said, glancing over at his mate. He offered him a small smile. “But it all has to end, doesn’t it?”

Dean turned to look back at where two men were filling in dirt over the casket. “I try not to think about that.”

Cas wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist and held him close for a moment. “Let’s go home.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “I’d rather go home,” he said. “There’s work there too.”

*~*~*~*~*

Cas returned to practicing law in New York instead of getting back into politics; he was starting to feel his more than forty years, and he didn’t want to waste his time by staying away from his family. And he had to admit that a steady routine was nice to have again, instead of all the travelling he had done the previous year.

Unfortunately, the next year was an election year, and if Cas had thought the campaigning in the last election was bad, it was nothing compared to the election of 1800.

The beginning of Metatron’s administration was met with general approval from the public, though Cas had never been able to understand why. During the last two years of his Presidency, however, Metatron’s popularity had fallen, and no one expected him to win, or even do well, in this election.

Abaddon was running again, which didn’t surprise anyone.

Crowley was running, which surprised damn near everyone.

Cas crossed paths with Crowley one day, while he was on his way to lunch. He didn’t plan on saying anything beyond a simple acknowledgement, but he didn’t have much of a choice when Crowley stepped into his path.

“Castiel,” Crowley said. “It’s good to see you old friend.”

“Good afternoon Crowley,” Cas said coolly.

“Have you been following this election?” Crowley asked.

“I have,” Cas said evenly. “You’ve created quite a stir. I never thought I’d see you openly campaign for anything.”

“It’s draining, I’ll admit,” Crowley said, though his voice was upbeat. Public opinion was tilting in his favor, and he knew it.

Cas narrowed his eyes and studied Crowley for a moment. “Is there anything you wouldn’t do?” he asked.

Crowley’s expression darkened, but only slightly. “No,” he replied. “I’m chasing what I want. And you know what?”

“What?”

“I learned that from you.”

Cas shook his head and stepped around Crowley, continuing on his way without another word. He hated to think about who he would have to vote for. Without a position in public office, Cas didn’t have much power to influence the electorate, but he’d be damned if he didn’t try. So in his free time, he did what he had always done – he wrote, though he made sure to keep time available to spend with his family. Dean was the only one who knew just how much time he spent in his office writing essays on the candidates.

“We had a few good years,” Dean said one morning, leaning on the doorframe to Cas’ office with his arms crossed over his chest. He could tell Cas was tired, but he also knew Cas wouldn’t admit it. “When you were home, I could wake up and you would still be there. It was nice while it lasted, I guess.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “This is the only time I have to write.”

“It’s four in the morning, Cas,” Dean said, slightly annoyed. “Come back to bed. For an hour. Then you can write as much as you want.” He pushed off the doorway and turned as if to leave, holding out a hand for Cas.

Cas sighed, but he pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room to take Dean’s hand and follow him back to the bedroom.

When they were both comfortable under the covers, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and pulled him closer. “You work too hard,” he said, pressing a kiss to Cas’ forehead.

“I know,” Cas said with a sigh, his eyes already drooping closed. “That’s what you always tell me.”

*~*~*~*~*

Abaddon was doing her best not to pace around her sitting room. She had been confident when the delegates had begun voting, but that was three rounds ago and it kept ending in a tie, even with recounting and recasting votes.

When the Electoral College vote had ended in a dead heat, the vote had gone to the House of Representatives. She was tied with Crowley, _of all people_ , and the thought of losing her second election in a row to Crowley, _of all people_ , had her about ready to pull her hair out.

She turned abruptly when she heard a knock on the door, quickly making sure her features were in a neutral expression. “Michael?” she asked when one of the Omegas led him in. “What is it?”

“The House is going to review platforms and public opinion,” Michael replied. “And you’ll never guess who put in a last-ditch effort to get you the Presidency.”

“Of course not,” Abaddon said, waving the statement away. “Everyone I would guess has already made public statements supporting my candidacy.”

“I’m sure,” Michael said, one side of his mouth curled up.

“Well, who is it?”

“Castiel Novak.”

Had Abaddon not had so much practice maintaining her composure, her jaw likely would have dropped to the floor. As it was, she still drew back in confusion. “I understand this is a stressful situation, but there’s no need to joke Michael.”

“I’m not joking,” Michael insisted. “He’s been writing under a pseudonym for the past couple of months on the election.” He shrugged. “He hasn’t said much that’s positive about anyone, but he’s finally come out and said he’d prefer you to Crowley.”

Abaddon stared at him for another moment of shocked silence. “You’re serious,” she finally decided.

“I am. Who knows what kind of effect it’ll have, but he’s on your side.”

Abaddon huffed a laugh. “I don’t think he’s on my side,” she said. “I think he’s just not on Crowley’s side.”

“Whatever it is,” Michael said, “he’s thrown whatever weight he has left behind your campaign.”

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley couldn’t believe it.

Couldn’t. Believe. It.

He understood that he and Castiel weren’t exactly friends anymore – if they had ever truly been friends in the first place – but he didn’t understand how Castiel could support _Abaddon_ over him. Certainly Castiel and Abaddon had _never_ gotten along.

When the election was finally decided in favor of Abaddon, Crowley swallowed his pride and congratulated her. If nothing else, he would serve as Vice President and gain favor there, hopefully using the post as a stepping-stone to the Presidency later.

But Abaddon was cold to him. Frigid even. She wasn’t a person one would describe as ‘tender hearted,’ but she didn’t bother to hide the fact that she didn’t want to work with Crowley at all.

It wasn’t long before she made that point even clearer by proposing a change to the election system, where the President and Vice President would be voted for separately, instead of the candidate with the second-most votes for President serving as Vice President.

Crowley took a deep breath and readjusted his plans. If Abaddon was going to try to block him, he’d just have to find another way to go about things.

He tried not to think about the fact that it was Castiel’s fault that he was in this position.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Blow Us All Away*  
> Stay Alive (Reprise)  
> Burn?  
> It's Quiet Uptown
> 
> * I apologize if you thought you were getting out of this but the duel was in 1801

**1801**

Ben paced through the streets of Manhattan. He was searching for someone, and he’d be damned if he didn’t find answers.

It was just after the start of the new year, and an Alpha by the name of Zachariah Fuller had been invited to give a speech at Columbia at the beginning of the semester. Ben, being in his last semester at the University, was eager to attend. Through most of the speech, Zachariah had focused on the coming year. He talked about using the new year as a time to start over, and the current political scene, with a new President taking over, seemed to be the metaphor he was focused on using.

Ben hadn’t minded the metaphor, and he’d heard enough about what was going on in politics from his father that he was able to keep up with all the different names and events fairly easily. What he didn’t like about the metaphor was that Zachariah made it very clear, without stating it outright, that he had been staunchly opposed to Abaddon’s candidacy, and that Castiel Novak was the one solely responsible for the fact that she would be at the helm of the nation for at least the next four years.

While Ben didn’t mind the man’s personal political beliefs, he _did_ mind the fact that Zachariah had thrown his father to the dogs. Those seated around him were aware of Ben’s family, and they gave him strange looks, as if they were either disgusted or disappointed. It made Ben’s skin crawl.

The day was cold and windy, and with his search so far turning up fruitless, Ben was suitably frustrated. His annoyed scent was strong enough that even over the mingled smells of the dense crowd and the harbors, others on the streets were giving him space, despite the distinct lack of space to give. Someone bumped into Ben and he tensed, giving off a more angry scent than a moment before.

“Get a drink, would ya?” someone said. “Jesus, calm down.”

Ben shook himself and took a deep breath, shoving his hands in his pockets. He asked around to see if anyone had seen Zachariah, and it took half an hour to find anyone who had.

“I saw him up Broadway, just a few blocks that way,” the Beta, a girl about Ben’s age, said, gesturing in the direction she’d seen him go. “He was going to see a play.”

That at least narrowed it down. “Thank you,” Ben said. He reached out briefly to touch her arm in thanks, but stopped himself before he touched her. “Apologies,” he said, pulling his arm back.

“It’s okay,” she said, studying him curiously. Undoubtedly she’d had her share of unwelcome touches, and it was clear she was intrigued by Ben’s reluctance to invade her space.

“Do you happen to know what play Zachariah was going to see?” Ben asked.

The girl shook her head. “I saw him near 53rd though, if that helps,” she offered.

“Thank you,” he said. He hesitated before he walked off. “May I ask your name?”

“Theodosia,” the girl said. “And yours?”

“Benjamin,” Ben said.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Theodosia said, offering her hand.

“The pleasure is mine,” Ben replied, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. “If we had not met when I have things to take care of, I’d offer to buy you a drink.”

Theodosia smiled coyly at him. “Well then you must tell me where I can find you,” she said. “So maybe we might meet under other circumstances.”

“Columbia University,” Ben said, preening slightly. “Come by tomorrow. Ask for me. Nearly everyone knows me.”

“Popular, are we?” Theodosia asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

“Exceedingly so,” Ben said, an air of feigned condescension about him.

Theodosia laughed. “Then I’ll ask for you at Columbia.”

“Until then, Theodosia,” Ben said, finally dropping her hand.

“Please, call me Theo,” she said.

“And you may call me Ben.”

“Then I will see you at Columbia, Ben,” Theo said with a smile.

“And I, you, Theo,” Ben said. He turned to walk down the street, but he only made it a few steps before he looked back to see her watching him go. He offered a wave, and grinned when he saw her giggle and turn away.

Ben made his way down Broadway, asking after Zachariah, his annoyance from earlier slowly returning.

It didn’t take long to find the right theater. Ben waited outside for intermission before he made his way inside. He found Zachariah easily enough, sitting with a group of people in one of the private boxes, talking and laughing.

“Zachariah,” Ben said as he approached.

The older man glanced up curiously at the sound of his name, and a bored expression immediately took residence on his features. “Benjamin Novak is it?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Ben said, his jaw tight.

“Is this about what I said about your father?” Zachariah asked, rolling his eyes. “Surely you must understand that I was only speaking the truth? You live with the man, after all.”

“There was no reason for speaking the way you did,” Ben countered. “Your point could carry without bringing personal opinions into the argument.”

Zachariah gave a long-suffering sigh. “Nothing I said wasn’t true,” he said, eying the young man in front of him. “Your father’s a scoundrel. And it seems he’s raised one as well.”

Ben felt his blood heat up. “I’ll see you on the dueling ground,” he said, before he could think. “Unless you’d like to step outside and solve this now?”

Zachariah raised a brow at him. He let a moment pass in silence, as if waiting to see if Ben would retract the statement. When he didn’t, Zachariah said, “I know where to find you.” He waved Ben away. “Now piss off, I’m trying to watch the show.”

Fuming, Ben turned on his heel and left in search of someone to help him.

*~*~*~*~*

“You what?” Cas asked, a horrified expression on his face. He had been sitting at his desk at home, putting together a case, when Ben had stormed in and told him about his meeting with Zachariah.

“Pop, if _you’d_ heard the shit he said about you, I doubt you would have let it slide,” Ben said, still stinking up the room in his fit of anger. “And I wasn’t about to.”

“Slow down,” Cas said, trying to keep his voice even and decidedly not-panicked.

“I wanted to ask your advice,” Ben said, finally sounding something other than angry. “Dueling isn’t exactly a subject we cover.”

Cas forced himself to take a breath, even as the image of Gabriel on the ground tried to press its way to the forefront of his mind. “Did your seconds attempt to negotiate a peace?” he asked, trying not to sound so much like he hoped Ben had forgotten that step.

“He wouldn’t apologize,” Ben said. “They had to drop it.”

Cas pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to keep his thoughts in order. “Where is this happening?” he asked.

“Across the river in Jersey.”

Cas was quiet a moment before he dropped his hand. “Okay,” he said, “this is what you need to do. You go through the motions when you get to the dueling ground. Make sure there’s a second negotiation. If you can drop this, you should.” Cas held up a hand to stay Ben’s protests. “If he won’t drop it, then when the time comes, don’t fire your weapon.”

Ben blinked at him. “What?”

“You heard me,” Cas said.

“What if he decides to shoot?” Ben asked. “I’ll be a goner.”

Cas shook his head. “If he’s a man of honor, and from what I’ve heard of him, he is, then he’ll follow suit,” he said.

“But what if he doesn’t?”

Cas took a deep breath and looked down, his face falling into something sadder. “To take someone’s life,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s something you can’t shake.” He glanced back up at his son. “Promise me,” he said, almost forcefully. “You don’t want his blood on your conscience.”

Ben hesitated, his weight shifting from foot to foot. “Alright,” he said. “I promise.”

Cas relaxed his posture and nodded, almost to himself. “I have a set of pistols you can use,” he said, leading Ben upstairs so he could retrieve them.

“When have you ever dueled anyone?” Ben asked.

Cas was glad Dean wasn’t home, because while he was sure he could fool Ben, he knew Dean would be able to see the pained look on his face. “I haven’t,” he replied. At least it was the truth. He handed the pistols over. “Come back home when you’re done. Be smart.”

Ben took the pistols carefully. He had fired a gun before, but he couldn’t remember when the last time had been. He supposed it was probably for the best then that he wasn’t planning on firing.

*~*~*~*~*

It was a cold morning, and the snow on the ground reflected the early light. Ben stood quietly, inspecting the pistol in his hand.

“You sure you still want to do this?” his friend asked. “When we negotiate, I could just say you apologize and we can be done.”

“No,” Ben said, almost immediately. “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” Ben fiddled with the hairpin trigger, his mind wandering. He remembered Theo was supposed to ask for him at Columbia later that day, and the thought made him smile despite his current circumstances.

Negotiations went quickly. No one apologized. Ben shook Zachariah’s hand, cold even against his frozen skin. They turned to face away from each other, and Zachariah’s second began counting paces.

“ _One. Two.”_

The only words Ben could think were _don’t shoot him_. He tightened his grip on his gun.

_“Three. Four.”_

Ben didn’t trust Zachariah as far as he could throw him. He had a sinking feeling that Zachariah would shoot on the count of ten, even if Ben turned around with his gun still at his side.

_“Five. Six.”_

Ben’s only goal was to get through the duel in one piece. He wanted to see his family again. He wanted to meet with Theo and actually get to know her. He wanted to finish law school and follow in his father’s footsteps. Maybe he’d get to Congress one day.

_“Seven. Eight.”_

Ben took a deep breath to try to steady himself. Get through the duel – that was the goal. He didn’t know much about Zachariah, but his father had said he was a man of honor. Ben didn’t have any reason not to believe that. His palm was starting to sweat, so he readjusted his grip.

 _“Nine. Ten._ ”

Ben turned to face his opponent, but didn’t raise the gun, just as he’d been told. He held his breath, sure he was about to feel a sting in his ribs. Nothing came. Zachariah was watching him. His hand had stopped in a half-raised position before he could fully level the pistol.

A few seconds passed in silence. Then a few more. Ben’s gaze darted around the small group around them; everyone had their backs to the duel, so they could deny having seen it. Ben wished someone would say they could all go home, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

An entire minute passed with nothing happening. Ben’s nose was numb and his cheeks felt stiff. He couldn’t feel his fingers. He shifted his grip on the pistol, and it must have looked like he was about to level it to fire, because the next thing he knew, there was an ear-splitting _crack_ , and then shooting pain in his side and arm, and then he was on the cold hard ground gasping for air through the pain, and then someone was rushing over to him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to make too much noise as the doctor and his friend carried him back to their boat.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas and Claire were just finishing up with clearing away the last of breakfast when there was a knock on the door.

“Do you need me to get it?” Claire asked.

Cas shook his head. “I can get it,” he said, drying his hands as he made his way to the door. He was surprised to see one of Ben’s friends standing there.

“Mr. Novak, sir, Ben was hurt,” the boy said, before Cas could get a word out.

“What?” Cas asked, his heart sinking and making itself at home somewhere near his spleen.

“Please, he’s at Dr. Richings’ place.”

“Go, I’ll be there as soon as I can,” Cas said. The boy didn’t waste any time before he turned and bolted from the doorstep. Cas closed the door reluctantly and leaned his weight against it, his jaw tight.

“What’s wrong Papa?” Claire asked.

Cas straightened himself up and turned to his daughter. “I need you to go find your father and tell him to get to Dr. Richings’ place,” he said, his voice tense and strained as he fought to keep himself from breaking in front of her. “And then you need to come back here and keep an eye on your brother and sister.”

Claire’s brow knit. “Is something wrong?”

“Ben’s been hurt in a duel,” Cas said stiffly.

“What? What happened?” Claire demanded.

“Go find your father,” Cas repeated.

“But–”

“ _Now_ , Claire,” Cas said, and there was no denying the force in his voice.

Claire gave him a startled, almost frightened look, but she nodded and slipped past him out the door, hurrying down the road toward the market.

Cas mentally kicked himself for snapping at her, but there was nothing he could do about it at the moment. “Jesse!”

“Yeah?” Jesse appeared at the top of the stairs a moment later, a confused look on his face, likely from the sudden change in scents in the room.

“I need you to keep an eye on Emma until Claire comes back,” Cas said, already pulling the door open.

“What’s going on?”

“Please, Jesse, I don’t have time,” Cas said. “I’ll explain later, okay?”

“Sure, okay,” Jesse said, looking, if anything, more confused than he had a moment before.

As soon as Cas had the door closed behind him, he took off down the street, pushing people aside and moving as fast as he could. He’d never been so thankful to only live a couple blocks from the doctor.

He pounded on the door when he arrived, and it swung open not two seconds later.

“Mr. Novak, come in,” Dr. Richings said, stepping aside for Cas to enter. “They brought him in just over half an hour ago. He’s lost a lot of blood–”

“Is he alive?” Cas interrupted, tears in his eyes.

“Yes,” Richings replied, shutting the door and leading Cas down the hall. “But you have to understand, the bullet entered just above his hip and lodged in his right arm.” He paused in front of another door, his hand resting on the knob. “I’m doing everything I can,” he said, “but the wound was already infected when he arrived.”

“Please, just let me see him,” Cas said, his jaw tight in an effort to keep himself under control.

Richings nodded and pushed the door open, and it was a sight Cas didn’t want to see.

He had seen soldiers beaten and bloody. He had seen more bandages and clothing stained red than he cared to remember. But his son wasn’t a soldier. His son wasn’t fighting a war. To see him lying on his back, a bloody bandage each around his midsection and arm, was almost more than Cas could take.

“Ben,” Cas breathed, moving quickly to the side of the bed.

“Pop,” Ben said, his eyes fluttering open and searching for his father’s face. “I did what you said.”

The words sent a pang through Cas, and he knew he’d never forgive himself, even though Ben didn’t say it in an accusing tone at all.

“I held my head up high,” Ben continued. His breathing was shallow. “I didn’t shoot, and he didn’t either. Not for a long time.”

“You did everything just right,” Cas said, now unable to keep the tears from falling down his face. He gripped Ben’s arm as reassuringly as he could.

“I don’t know… What happened,” Ben said. “I think he…thought I made a move.” He paused to catch his breath. He was pale, and there was sweat on his brow, even with the chill in the room.

“Save your strength,” Cas said. He didn’t want to hear anymore, didn’t think he could _handle_ hearing any more. He glanced up when he heard the hinges on the door squeak. “Dean.”

Dean was red in the face and panting, as if he’d run the entire way there. There were already tears on his cheeks. “Who did this?” he demanded, his voice wobbly. He crossed to the bed faster than Cas had seen him move in years and took a seat on Ben’s other side. “Cas, did you know about this?”

Cas didn’t answer. He didn’t think he could handle answering. He looked down, squeezing his eyes shut. Dean knew – he could feel it.

“Dad,” Ben said, smiling weakly, trying to dispel the tension in the room.

“Ben, what happened?” Dean asked. He spoke softly, as he had always done when Ben was sick in bed. He reached out and took Ben’s hand in his.

Bed tried to shrug, and winced at the movement. He coughed once. “Someone was talking shit about Pop… And I couldn’t let him do that,” Ben said. He managed a lopsided smile in an effort to lighten the mood.

Dean wanted to scream that, yes, he could have let him do that. Dean wanted him to know that there was no reason to risk his life over what someone else had said. Dean wanted to tell him how stupid it was to have risked something so important for something so trivial.

He couldn’t make himself say any of that.

“What have I told you about talking like that in front of me?” Dean asked instead. There wasn’t any iron in his voice.

Ben tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough somewhere in the middle. “I’m sorry,” he managed.

Dean shook his head. “Tell you what, you save your strength, and you come home with us, and all is forgiven.”

“I’m cold,” Ben said.

Dean pressed his hand to Ben’s forehead. “And no wonder,” he said. He tried, boy oh boy did he try, to keep his voice the same light tone he’d always used when the children were sick. He wasn’t succeeding. “You’ve got quite the fever young man.”

Ben squeezed Dean’s hand tighter and pulled on it weakly. “I’m scared.”

“Don’t be,” Dean said. He shifted so he was sitting up by Ben’s shoulders, and he carefully pulled his son into his lap. “I’m here. Your Papa’s here. We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Cas glanced up at his mate and his son, and felt a fresh wave of despair claw at him. “You’ll be okay, Ben,” he said anyway.

Ben shivered in Dean’s arms, and tried to turn so his face was pressed to his father’s side. He wanted to hide. Everything hurt. The wound throbbed, and his insides felt like they were on fire. He couldn’t think straight, and he really couldn’t breathe any more. His heart was beating painfully fast in his chest. And then there was a moment of stillness, of calm. And then he felt numb, and he let out a whimper of relief.

“Ben,” Dean said. “Come on, you can beat this.” It was useless, he knew, but he didn’t want to believe what was happening. He could feel Ben growing heavier in his arms, and the tears were falling fast now. “Ben, can you look at me please?”

If there were any way for Cas to forget the sound that clawed its way out of Dean’s throat when Ben’s body went limp, he would have taken it in a heartbeat.

*~*~*~*~*

“How could you let him do that?” Dean demanded, almost screamed, later that night.

“I don’t know,” Cas said. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. He wasn’t going to make a move to stop Dean from yelling.

“You _knew_ he was going to duel. You _knew_. And you didn’t say anything.”

“I know,” Cas said.

There was a heavy silence, broken only by Dean’s sobs.

“Get out,” Dean said.

Cas’ head shot up. “Out?”

“Sleep in your office, I don’t care,” Dean said. “I don’t want to see you.”

“I understand,” Cas said with a nod. He pushed himself up from the bed and made his way out of the room. He heard Dean slam the door behind him, and he winced.

Cas couldn’t stand the thought of being alone in his office just yet, so he went down the hall and knocked on the children’s door.

Jesse had shared a room with Ben, but he couldn’t stand to be in there right now, so he was staying in Emma’s bed while Emma slept with Claire in her bed. But instead of all of them trying to sleep, when Cas opened the door he found all three of them huddled on one bed, crying softly. None of them made a move to greet him, and he supposed he couldn’t blame them.

“Claire, for what it’s worth, I apologize for snapping at you earlier,” he said. She didn’t acknowledge the apology. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, and it won’t happen again, you have my word.”

Still none of them responded, so he let them be and made his way down to his office. He wanted to focus on something else, or to figure out how he could possibly make this up to them, but all he could think about was Ben lying broken and bleeding on that table.

Cas sank heavily in his chair and wept.

*~*~*~*~*

The day of the funeral was cold and crisp, the air still.

Dean had managed to stop crying for the service, but as the casket was lowered into the ground, he felt the tears threaten to fall again. Emma was sobbing in his arms, and he did his best to soothe her, even though he knew his best wouldn’t be enough – not for this.

Jesse and Claire had both spoken to Cas since Ben’s death, and there seemed to be an uneasy peace there. Dean was happy for them, but he couldn’t get a hold of the pain in his heart for long enough to be alone in the same room as Cas. Even now, as they stood at their son’s grave, they were standing next to each other, but not with each other.

“Do you think Heaven exists?” Jesse asked no one in particular, as the family made their way back to the house. He still hadn’t moved back into his room.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and it was Claire who finally answered.

“If it does,” she said, “that’s where he is.”

*~*~*~*~*

Only a week after Ben’s funeral, the family moved into a new house uptown. None of them could stand to be in the old house without Ben, not when he would never live there again.

The new house was bigger. Each of the children had their own room. The kitchen wasn’t so cramped.

The office was on the opposite end from the master suite.

Cas thought Dean might have liked that a little too much. Dean still wouldn’t so much as look at him, and Cas wasn’t going to press the issue.

Unfortunately, in their now high-tension household, Cas couldn’t get more than an hour of sleep at one time. If it wasn’t the string of usual nightmares, it was the sight of Ben, over and over. Cas started taking his walks again when he woke up. Sometimes he could hear the kids awake in their rooms as he walked by. Sometimes he knocked and, if they opened the door for him, tried to offer them some kind of comfort. Other times he was too much of a wreck himself to be of any use to anyone, and he would continue silently on his way.

Dean spent more time in the garden, and he didn’t go out into town unless he absolutely had to. He spent time reading, and he almost never spoke – to himself or the children. He wouldn’t touch the piano.

Cas started taking the children to church on Sundays. He even caught himself praying, and meaning it. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

More than once, Cas found himself at Ben’s grave. He would stand in front of it, or kneel by the headstone. Sometimes he was silent, but usually he apologized. Other times he would just talk.

“I think you would like the new place,” he would say. “I know you didn’t like the noise in Harlem, but I think you’d like it uptown. It’s quiet uptown.”

Cas couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed quiet, but now it helped him center himself. He was somewhere new, and it was okay there, away from the ghosts that haunted the old place.

*~*~*~*~*

For almost two months after Ben’s death, tensions remained high, until one day Cas couldn’t take it anymore. He had been reading to Emma when she had asked him why he and Dean didn’t smell the same anymore. Cas thought that if he lost his mating bond with Dean, by now the only thing that still made him hope they might get through this, he would end up in the ground beside his son.

He found Dean in the kitchen, and Dean ignored him, as per usual.

“Dean,” Cas tried.

Dean went about his business.

“Dean, please,” Cas said. “Please just hear me out. That’s all I need. That would be enough.”

Dean didn’t pause in what he was doing, but Cas could tell he was listening.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” Cas said.

“Damn right you don’t,” Dean said, his voice so quiet Cas thought he might have imagined it.

“If I could trade his life for mine,” Cas said, “he’d be standing here right now. And you would smile, and that would be enough. That’d be all I needed to see before I took his place.” Cas hoped Dean would say something, but when he didn’t, Cas added, “I can’t stand to see you like this. I know you need time, and I don’t expect you to forgive me in a day. But I’m not afraid to face this with you. If you’ll let me.” He managed to not stutter over his words, even though tears had started to roll down his cheeks.

The change wasn’t immediate, but that night, after everything was put away after dinner, Dean gave Cas a look when Cas went to head to his office. “Are you coming to bed or not?” Dean demanded.

They slept on opposite sides of the bed, nowhere near each other, but Cas slept better than he had in weeks.

Dean started to come on walks with Cas. Sometimes Cas would talk, but there was never any conversation. Cas couldn’t help but think of their walks in the woods at the estate the previous summer, of their rides to the lake and beyond. He remembered coming back to find Ben on one of the polo ponies, and Dean had laughed, remembering Cas’ offhand comment almost ten years before.

What Cas wouldn’t give to hear Dean laugh again.

Sometimes they would work together. Cas would help make dinner, or they would work in the garden together. On one of those days in the garden, working side by side, something else changed. Neither of them spoke, but at some point Dean reached across the space between them and took Cas’ hand in his and squeezed it gently.

Cas looked up at Dean, surprised, but Dean didn’t look back at him, only went back to his work, maybe leaning a little closer than he had been.

They still didn’t talk much, but they were back to companionable silence. Dean offered more conversation on their walks, which sometimes started after dinner and lasted long after midnight. In the low light, Cas was reminded of an early morning ride upstate. He wondered how many times they would have to put each other back together – it seemed often nowadays.

Toward the end of March, they found themselves in the cemetery in the early afternoon. They tried not to think of the date until they were at the grave.

“It was like this the day he was born, you know,” Dean said, his voice carefully blank. He was staring at the date on the headstone. “It was cool, but in the sun it was warm enough. And it was sunny, with no clouds in the sky.”

“Dean,” Cas said, tentatively taking his mate’s hand.

They were quiet a long time, until Dean’s lower lip started to tremble.

“I remember when I held him the first time,” Dean said, tears now falling freely down his cheeks. “I was so happy. I couldn’t believe he was real.”

Cas didn’t know what to say, so he didn’t say anything at all, just stood quietly while Dean cried. They were there for more than half an hour, not doing anything in particular, not talking.

As they left, Dean whispered, “Happy Birthday Ben.”

That night, for the first time in a long time, Dean let Cas hold him.

Cas had a strong grip on his mate, holding him as close as he possibly could while Dean cried into his neck. “I know Dean, I know. I’m so sorry.” He repeated it over and over, rubbing his hands over Dean’s back.

“I know you are,” Dean said, when he’d finally worn himself out. “I know you are.”


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton tracks:  
> Your Obedient Servant  
> Best of Wives and Best of Women  
> The World Was Wide Enough
> 
> Bonus:  
> Ten Things One Thing  
> 

**1804**

As Abaddon’s term in office came to a close, it was clear she was a shoe-in for a second term. A deal she’d made with France had doubled the size of the country, and the citizens were in high spirits over it.

Crowley didn’t have a chance – he knew that; not this Presidential election anyway. So instead, he set his sights on the position of Governor of New York. It should be easy enough; New Yorkers had quite liked him in the last Presidential election, even if his popularity hadn’t been reflected in the outcome.

So he campaigned.

*~*~*~*~*

It had taken a long time for life to return to some kind of normal, but eventually it had. It certainly wasn’t the normal they had had before, but they had a new routine, and they were a family again. Time had a way of sorting things out like that.

They were upstate when they first saw the campaign flyers.

Cas didn’t pay any attention at first; the spring days were starting to grow warmer, and he was more concerned with spending time with his family on vacation than he was with who was running for Governor. He didn’t even bother to read that section of the newspaper every week.

“I have to admit, I thought you’d be more up in arms about the election,” Dean remarked, about a week after they’d seen the first flyers. As soon as he’d noticed them, he had been sure Cas would go back into work mode, but so far, Cas had barely reacted at all.

Cas shrugged, taking Dean’s hand in his.

“I’m proud of you,” Dean said, squeezing Cas’ hand.

Cas gave him a curious look. “Why?” he asked.

Dean briefly considered back pedaling, but settled for shrugging it off. “You can never let off on politics,” he said, “but you haven’t made any kind of comment about the candidates.”

“Should I have?” Cas asked, head tilted to one side.

“No,” Dean said simply. “I just thought you might.”

Cas had to admit he hadn’t even noticed who was running, and he briefly debated tracking down the most recent paper they had to look it up.

“We’re only here for another week,” Dean said, immediately catching Cas’ train of thought. “Can you leave it alone until we get home?”

“Of course,” Cas said with a nod. He’d have to fight off his curiosity for a week, but he’d done it this long, he figured he might as well carry it through.

*~*~*~*~*

It was only toward the end of the election that Crowley noticed anything in the papers that resembled Castiel’s writing style, which surprised him. For as long as Crowley could remember, Castiel hadn’t been one to hold his tongue when he had an opinion. Really, Crowley had expected Castiel to have been all over this election from before it even began. Whatever the reason for the late start, Crowley wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see that Castiel wasn’t endorsing him. He started ignoring those columns when he noticed them.

As the final days of the campaign approached, Crowley could tell public opinion was wavering. It seemed whatever influence Castiel had left was doing its job in swaying people, and Crowley felt anger bubble in his gut; for once he’d just like to be able to get something accomplished without having that upstart jump in and get in the middle of it.

Crowley couldn’t say he was surprised when the results came in to say that he’d lost the election. No, surprised was the wrong word. He was furious, and unlike in the last election, he made sure to confront Castiel about it.

*~*~*~*~*

_Dear Castiel,_

_I am slow to anger, but I toe the line as I reckon with the effect of your life on mine. In looking back on where I have failed, I have found that in every place I’ve checked, the only common thread has been you, from the time we met during the Revolution, to the past two election cycles. It seems that every time I set out to accomplish something, every time we find ourselves run up against each other, you are the one who directly impairs my ability to fully realize what I have set out to do._

_Now, in this most recent election cycle, you have called me immoral, and a dangerous disgrace. If you have concerns on the way I conduct myself in the public eye, you are more than welcome to name a time and place, and we can settle this like gentlemen._

_Your Obedient Servant,  
                        C. MacLeod_

*~*~*~*~*

Cas was surprised to find the letter from Crowley waiting for him when he arrived home from work, seeing as Crowley had almost never directly confronted him on anything. Though he supposed it was inevitable that Crowley would eventually decide to bring up what had transpired.

Upon reading the letter, he was also surprised to learn that Crowley had ever set out to do anything.

“Did he say anything exciting?” Dean asked from where he was preparing dinner.

“He believes that I am the reason for every failure he’s ever suffered since we met,” Cas said, as if this were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard (mostly because he thought it was).

“I didn’t know you had that much power, Cas,” Dean said. “Can you use some of that to help me get this damn bird carved?”

Cas chuckled to himself. “Of course,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Mr. Vice President,_

_My interference cannot be to blame for any misgivings on your part, which are certainly more responsible for any failure you have suffered than my own intrusion. I remember at least one occasion in which I offered you a part in my own plans, and you were adamant about keeping your distance from the project, despite my own insistence that you should be a part of it._

_In regards to what I have said about you, I haven’t said anything that isn’t true. I am not the reason no one can trust you; no one knows what you believe. I will not equivocate on my opinion, and in fact I have always worn it on my sleeve for everyone who wished to know it. Furthermore, if I had said what you seem to think I said, you would still need to cite a more specific grievance. I could provide you with a list to choose from, if you wish._

_But I digress. I am, as I have always been, a man in the public eye, trying to do what I believe is best for our Republic. I don’t wish to meet with you, but I certainly will not apologize for doing what’s right._

_I have the Honor to be,_  
      _Your Obedient Servant,_  
_C. Novak_

*~*~*~*~*

Crowley read through the letter three times, trying to decide which part of it made him hate it more. In the end, he decided he hated each part equally.

This had gone on long enough, and he finally couldn’t take it anymore. For nearly thirty years he’d known Castiel, and throughout those thirty years they had constantly been at odds with each other, even when they hadn’t resorted to whatever the hell was going on within their letters. Enough was enough.

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Castiel,_

_I beg you tread carefully. I write merely to bring your attention to the myriad of ways you have interfered with my plans, most recently in the last two election cycles – the first for President of the United States, and the second for Governor of New York. Acknowledge your hand in these and what you have said about me, and we won’t have any further problems. If not, simply name a time and place as I mentioned in my last letter, and we will settle this like gentlemen._

_Your Obedient Servant,  
                        C. MacLeod_

*~*~*~*~*

Cas wasn’t surprised to find Crowley’s second letter waiting for him. He put it away when he found it, determined to ignore it for a while.

It wasn’t until later that night when he and Dean were sitting in bed reading that he picked the letter back up. Dean gave him a worried look when he broke the seal, but didn’t say anything as Cas read quickly to himself.

“You’re annoyed,” Dean said after a moment. He had seen how thin the letter was; he knew it wasn’t taking Cas that long to read it.

“I am.” He didn’t see a point in denying it.

“What’d he say this time?”

“More of the same,” Cas replied.

“You did actively shut down his chances in the election.”

“-S”

“What?”

“Election _s_ ,” Cas said. “More than one.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, election _s_. I’d be pretty pissed at you too.”

Cas considered for a moment. “I stand by what I said.”

Dean shrugged. “He won’t.”

“I suppose he’s entitled to that,” Cas said.

“Are you going to answer him?”

“I probably won’t say what he wants me to, but I’ll give him an answer.”

Dean sighed. “You always have to pick fights don’t you?”

Cas’ brow creased thoughtfully. “I do do that, don’t I?”

Dean snorted. “You’re an ass.”

“I wonder why no one’s told me.”

“We have.” Dean laughed at the look Cas gave him. “I’m sorry Cas, but you _can_ be an ass.”

“Well thank you for finally bringing that to my attention.” Cas’ expression went blank, staring at the letter in his hands again.

“Oh come on,” Dean said, shoving Cas’ arm playfully. When Cas’ expression didn’t change, Dean leaned closer to him, resting his head on Cas’ arm. When Cas still didn’t look at him, he poked Cas’ ribs. He pursed his lips when he still didn’t get a response. “Castiel.”

Cas slid his gaze to Dean’s face and couldn’t quite stop the corner of his mouth from turning up.

Dean grinned up at him and poked him again, forcing Cas to huff a laugh and look away. “Put the letter down.”

Cas gave Dean an mock incredulous look. “I will do no such thing. I’ll have you know–”

Dean reached up cupped his hand over Cas’ mouth. “Hush.”

Cas rolled his eyes and set the letter on the bedside table before he reached up and pulled Dean’s hand away from his face. “Better?”

“Yes.” Dean licked his first two fingers and reached across Cas to extinguish the candle beside him.

Cas raised a brow at him. “I guess we’re done reading?”

“ _You_ are.”

“Then so are you,” Cas said simply, reaching around Dean to blow out his candle.

“Rude.”

“You started it.”

Dean laughed and grabbed a fistful of Cas’ shirt. “You’re an ass.”

“So you tell me.”

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Crowley,_

_Your grievance is legitimate, but I must say that I’m standing by what I’ve said. You stand only for yourself – it’s what you do. I can’t apologize for speaking the truth._

_Your Obedient Servant,  
                             C. Novak_

 

*~*~*~*~*

Cas rose early the morning of July 11th. He made sure to leave the bedroom quietly so as not to disturb Dean, sleeping soundly beside him.

This date had been creeping up on him for just under a week, and Cas hadn’t been able to make himself write this letter. The papers were set out neatly on his desk, the quill waiting patiently in its ink well.

Cas sighed as he sat down and set a candle on his desk, deciding on writing the less personal letter first. If he didn’t make it home, he wanted to make sure everyone knew what his plan had been going in. As much as he didn’t agree with Crowley, and as much as they hadn’t gotten along in recent years, Cas had known all along that he wouldn’t be able to hurt him, not really. Cas didn’t even bother with editing the letter, just wrote out exactly what he planned to do and why. He hoped he’d be able to write independently on the subject later, but if not, this would have to do.

The second letter was tougher. Cas started and restarted several times, never quite able to get the words to work right. There was too much to say, and for once Cas couldn’t find the words he needed to say any of it.

“Cas, what the fuck?”

Cas jumped at the voice, his head jerking up. “Dean,” Cas said. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Dean had a concerned look on his face; Cas hadn’t gotten up from bed in the middle of the night since he and Dean had started sharing a bed again. “Come back to sleep,” he said, holding out a hand to Cas.

Cas shook his head. “I have an early meeting out of town.”

Dean’s concerned expression changed to confused. “It’s still dark outside.”

“I know,” Cas said, looking back down at his papers. “I just need to write something down.”

A small smile played on Dean’s lips. “You always need to write something down,” he said fondly. “Come on. Come back to bed.”

“I’ll be back before you even notice I’m gone.” Cas didn’t look up as his hand moved across the page.

“No Cas, come on,” Dean said. He crossed the room to stand on the other side of Cas’ desk. He held his hand out. “Come back to sleep.”

“I can’t,” Cas said. “This meeting’s at dawn.”

Dean waited a beat or two before he dropped his hand, looking hurt. “Well I’m going back to sleep.”

Cas stood and caught Dean’s arm just as Dean turned away, and the hopeful look on Dean’s face broke his heart. “Dean, you know you’re the best I could have asked for, don’t you?”

One side of Dean’s mouth turned up in a soft smile. “Then come back with me.”

“I’ll be back in time for breakfast,” Cas said. He stepped around the desk so he was beside Dean. “And then I will stay with you as long as you want.”

“You promise?” Dean asked, poking Cas in the ribs.

Cas managed a genuine smile. “With everything I have,” he said. He pulled Dean close to him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“You know I’ll hold you to that, don’t you?” Dean teased.

“I think I would be insulted if you didn’t,” Cas said.

“Fine, then I’ll see you later,” Dean said, turning and walking back down the hall.

Cas stared at the doorway for a few minutes, allowing himself time to think of nothing but his mate, to commit everything about him to memory. Part of him wanted Dean to walk back into the office, take his hand, and lead him back to bed.

With a sigh, Cas returned to his desk. He was sure there were a thousand better ways to write this letter, but for once, he knew he needed to speak plainly.

*~*~*~*~*

Weehawken was on the river, and a fog had settled in overnight.

Crowley didn’t bother to hide the fact that he was angry, but he was more than willing to hide the fact that he was afraid; he had lost Billie only two years before, and he couldn’t imagine what it would do to Theo if he ended up not coming home.

When Castiel stepped ashore, they studied each other. Crowley couldn’t tell much in the early morning mist, but Castiel certainly looked like he was on a mission, turning his pistol over in his hand and fiddling with the trigger. Castiel said something to the man who was with him, but Crowley couldn’t make out what he had said.

Their seconds spoke to each other just as the sun started creeping over the horizon, lighting the Manhattan skyline on fire. Crowley hoped Castiel would just apologize; there were so many other pursuits that were more worthy of their time.

There was no apology.

Crowley and Castiel shook hands, each with an iron grip and glaring daggers. They turned to face away from each other.

“ _One_. _Two._ ”

Cas remembered when he was younger, how he used to imagine death. He couldn’t help but wonder if _this_ was how it was going to come for him – on his feet, using the same gun his son had used three years before in this same spot. The thought pained him; Ben had never hurt anyone. Cas tried not to think about how scared Ben must have been.

“ _Three. Four_.”

Cas thought about the look on Crowley’s face. Crowley had always hated confrontation, and it showed clearly that morning. And while Cas didn’t make it a habit to shy away from conflict, he too felt a reluctance in his chest.

“ _Five. Six._ ”

The sunrise really was a sight. It had been a while since Cas and Dean had watched the sun come up. Cas wondered when he and Dean would get to sit and watch dawn come again.

“ _Seven. Eight._ ”

As the countdown neared ten, Cas felt oddly calm. If he shot off his round and threw it away as he planned to, Crowley would have to yield. They’d both get to live another day. And if that weren’t enough, it certainly wasn’t in Crowley’s political interest to kill anyone.

“ _Nine. Ten._ ”

Crowley turned quickly, his pistol level. He could see Castiel turning toward him, raising his pistol. There were two gunshots, and it took Crowley half a second to register that Castiel’s shot had gone wide. It took another half second to realize that his own shot had struck true, and that Castiel was on the ground.

For two seconds, everything was frozen in silence. Then the doctor moved first, rushing to Castiel’s side. The sudden burst of activity shook Crowley from his shock, and he took a step toward Castiel on the ground. And then another. And then his friend had a hand on his chest, preventing him from moving any closer.

“You need to get out of here.”

Crowley stared at the other man. It took a moment for the words to register, and when they did, Crowley could only nod. He looked over at Castiel one last time, and he was relieved to see him shake his head at whatever he’d been asked.

Already the morning was hot, but Crowley felt cold as he walked away. He wasn’t sure where he was going.

*~*~*~*~*

Cas was on the ground before he even registered that he’d been injured. His side felt like it was on fire, but he couldn’t feel anything below his waist. He blinked up at the sky, waiting for his mind to catch up to his body, even as he felt blood soak through his shirt.

Richings was at his side in seconds, and Cas smiled tensely at him. “How do I look, doc?” he managed.

“You look terrible,” the doctor said.

“Thank you.”

“Can you stand?”

Cas shook his head. “I can’t feel my legs.” He didn’t miss the look that crossed Richings’ face.

“Let’s get him back in the boat,” the doctor said.

Pain shot up Cas’ back as they lifted him, and he did his best not to cry out. The ride back wasn’t much better, and even with his eyes shut, he could tell they were fussing over him. His jaw was clenched painfully tight as they wrapped a bandage around his torso in an attempt to stop the bleeding.

“It’s no use,” Cas said tiredly. “You’re just prolonging it.”

*~*~*~*~*

Dean woke to find the bed still empty, and he rolled his eyes, though he hadn’t really expected Cas to come back to bed. He stood and stretched, his joints popping. He crossed the room to the wardrobe, and curiously eyed an envelope that was resting on top of it, his name scrawled across the front of it.

Dean sighed and took the envelope down, sure it was Cas saying he’d gone out for a walk and he’d be back. Why Cas would take the time to put that in an envelope was beyond him.

The letter was nothing like what Dean expected.

 

_Dean,_

_I’ve tried to write this letter a hundred times in the last week, but I could never make myself put pen to paper. And when I could, I never knew how to start it. There are so many ways I could refer to you. I could call you Dearest, or Beloved, or Love, but none of them ever sound right, even though they are more true than you could ever know._

_I want you to know that you’ve saved my life in a hundred different ways. I want you to know that I love you more than I ever thought it was possible to love anyone. I want you to know how I always looked forward to coming home to seeing you._

_I love you. I love how much you care. I love how patient you are with our children. I love how intelligent you are. I love how you complain about how hot the kitchen gets in the summer. I love that you forgave me. I love all of you, so much. There aren’t words for how much I love you._

_Which makes this all the more difficult. I pray I will return home before you find this, so I can tell you this in person, but that might not happen. I’ve gone to duel with Crowley in Weehawken. I have already made up my mind to throw away my shot. I have killed enough people in my day, and I do not wish to add his name to the list. If I make it home, I’ll write on the subject myself. If not, I’ve written a separate letter to go along with this one._

_Dr. Richings will be present at the duel. I hope his help is not needed. If I am not home by the time you wake up, that is where you will find me. I’m sorry._

_Once I asked what I did to deserve you. I came to realize a few years ago that I don’t deserve you. I still believe that. You have always been too good for me Dean. Even if you didn’t believe it yourself. I hope you believe it now. I love you._

_With all my Love, I am as Always,_  
                     _Your most humble Servant to command,_  
_Cas_

Dean stared at the page for a full minute. And then another. He felt like his heart had stopped. He half thought he was dreaming. That was the only sensible explanation, wasn’t it?

He changed quickly and all but ran out of the room, the letter discarded on the bed.

Claire was already in the kitchen, and she looked up, startled, at her father’s appearance. “What’s wrong?” she asked immediately.

“Your father’s hurt,” Dean said. He saw Claire’s face go pale. “I’m going to find him, and I’ll send for you as soon as I know anything, but I need you to keep an eye on things around here, okay?”

“Okay.” Claire’s voice was small.

This early in the morning, there weren’t many people in the streets. The few who were didn’t bother Dean as he made his way downtown.

Dean pounded on Richings’ door, not caring if he woke anyone up. In fact, he’d prefer it. When the door swung open, he asked, “Where is he?”

“Follow me,” the doctor said, leading Dean down the hall. “I have to warn you, it doesn’t look good.”

“How long has he been here?”

“About an hour.”

Dean shook his head, fighting back tears. “What happened?”

“The bullet entered above his right hip, but there’s no exit wound,” Richings said. “It interfered with his spine, and is likely lodged somewhere in his back. He’s paralyzed from the waist down.”

Dean nodded, swallowing the foul taste in his mouth.

Seeing Cas on the bed was about as bad as seeing Ben. Cas’ shirt had been removed and the bandages around his torso were soaked red. His breathing was shallow.

“Cas?” Dean asked from the doorway.

Cas’ eyes immediately opened, and he turned his head to catch Dean in his line of sight. “Dean.” He managed a small, tired smile.

“Cas, you son of a bitch,” Dean said, his voice tense, holding back tears, as he entered the room. “What the _fuck_ were you thinking?”

Cas closed his eyes and shook his head. “I wasn’t.” He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough this time,” Dean said. He tried to put force behind his words, but whatever force there was was drowned out by sorrow.

“Sorry is never good enough,” Cas agreed. “But sorry is the word I have.”

It took time and most of the day, but everyone was able to come around to see Cas. They managed to prop him up so he didn’t look quite so much like a dying man, and pulled a blanket up under his arms to hide the soiled bandages.

Claire, Jesse, and Emma stayed in the room most of the day, just visiting and talking. They tried to ignore the scent of blood in the room. Jo came by around lunch time to keep them company, and she sat in for a few hours. Sam and Jess and their daughters made it just after Jo did. Through the whole day, Cas never once showed how much pain he was in, though Dean could tell – it showed in the tension around Cas’ mouth, how his smiles never quite touched his eyes, how when he laughed he was very still.

Once, just before lunch, the doctor kicked everyone but Dean out of the room so he could change Cas’ bandages. Dean tried not to stare when the old bandages were stripped away; it was a nasty injury, right above the old bayonet scar, as if a British soldier more than twenty years prior had been pointing out _this – this is where the final shot will be._

It was almost a relief when, at the end of the day, Dean and Cas were left alone again. Cas was allowed to lie down, and he seemed a great deal more comfortable like that. Dean took one of Cas’ hands in both of his, stroking his thumbs over the bloodless skin.

“Dean,” Cas said after a while, “I want you to promise me something.”

“Anything.”

Cas met Dean’s gaze, though it wasn’t quite as steady as it had been. “I want you to take your time,” he said. “Don’t hurry to follow me, okay? There’s so much for you to do.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked.

“Please, Dean. Just promise me. Take your time.”

Dean blinked at him, confused. “Okay.”

Cas nodded and went back to staring at the ceiling. He gripped Dean’s hand harder than he had been, and when he didn’t release the pressure, Dean realized he was terrified.

“You’re going to be okay,” Dean said. He stood and turned and sat at the head of the bed, lifting Cas’ head gingerly and scooting so Cas’ head was in his lap. He brushed Cas’ hair off of his forehead. “Cas, I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay.”

Cas’ eyes focused on Dean above him, and he smiled. “I remember when you wouldn’t dare look me in the eye,” he said. He reached up to clumsily cup Dean’s face. “It was so long ago. Look at you now.”

Dean huffed a wet laugh. “I’m still a mess,” he said.

“Aren’t we all,” Cas said. He managed a weak, wobbly smile. “I love you Dean.”

“I love you too Cas.”

“Please kiss me,” Cas said. His hand had fallen from Dean’s face to his shirtfront, and he was holding on tight.

Dean leaned down and brushed his lips against Cas’. It was the barest touch, but he still felt Cas’ lips twitch into a small smile. When he pulled away from the kiss, Dean wrapped his arms around Cas and leaned close to him. Dean wasn’t sure when Cas’ body went limp, but he did know that he didn’t move until the doctor came in to check on them and found him with tears on his cheeks and his mate in his arms.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton track:  
> Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

“Dean, I will not continue to keep your house in working order by myself.”

Dean glared at Jo from his place in his bed. She was standing in the doorway, giving him a dry look. He burrowed further under the covers.

Jo frowned and crossed to the bed. “You’ve barely been out of this room in the last week,” she said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. She could count on her fingers the number of times she’d seen Dean around the house since Cas’ funeral. “This isn’t good for you. Or your family.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, and he wiped at his eyes. “I can’t do it,” he said quietly.

“Neither can your kids,” Jo countered. She managed to keep her voice under control, despite her annoyance. “Neither can _I_. He was my friend too. _And_ Sam’s.” Her expression softened when she saw the guilt on Dean’s face. “So why don’t you quit hiding in here, and we can all not do it together.”

Dean hugged his pillow closer to his chest. “I miss him.”

“I know you do,” Jo said. She rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. “But you’ll never feel better if you just sit in here feeling sorry for yourself.”

“I could try,” Dean said, squeezing the pillow stubbornly.

Jo sighed. “Sam and Jess and the girls are coming over for dinner, so you need to come out for dinner too. At least for a little bit.”

“Fine,” Dean said, pushing himself up into a sitting position. He scrubbed at his eyes.

Jo eyed him suspiciously, as if she were afraid he’d actually fall apart before her eyes. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and crossed to the wardrobe. “Do you mind? I’ll be out in a minute.” He dressed quickly when she left, trying to ignore the empty space in the room where Cas’ wardrobe had been. Every time he noticed any empty space Cas had once filled, he felt the sting of Cas’ passing once again, like a wound that refused to scab over.

Still, he forced his face into some semblance of pleasant and made his way out to the dining room.

It was eerily quiet in the house, and had been for the last week. No one sat at the piano, no one held conversations in the den. Even the sounds of food cooking in the kitchen seemed oddly muted.

Dean didn’t even have time to process who was in the room before Emma ran over to him and had him in vice grip, her face buried against his side. He hugged her, fighting to keep his face neutral as he patted her back. Claire and Jesse looked up when he entered, but didn’t move from their seats.

“Good, you’re up,” Jo said, as if she weren’t the one who had talked him into leaving his room in the first place. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m alright,” Dean said. It was obviously a lie, but the look on his face made it clear he didn’t want that pointed out. He gently unwrapped Emma from his waist and knelt down to kiss the top of her head.

“I miss Papa,” Emma said, tears in her eyes.

“I miss him too,” Dean said. He offered her a small smile that didn’t touch any other part of his face.

Emma’s lower lip started to wobble and she was immediately on him again, crying into his shoulder.

“Okay,” Dean said. He stood and picked her up (even though by now she was almost too big for him to be able to comfortably carry her anywhere), making his way to an open chair with her balanced on his hip. When he sat down, she readjusted herself so she had her arms around him and her face buried in his shoulder.

“How’re you two holding up?” Dean asked, his gaze flicking between Claire and Jesse.

Claire shrugged, absent-mindedly smoothing the napkin on the table in front of her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dean wished she and he had different coping mechanisms; at least that way he wouldn’t be so much of a hypocrite if he didn’t follow his own advice.

“How could he do that?” Jesse asked, sounding almost angry. He’d asked that question several times in the last week. “After- After what happened to Ben?”

“I don’t know,” Dean replied. He’d wondered the same thing. Of course he knew the answer – at least the one that Cas had given him. Not for the first time, Dean kicked himself for not trying harder to get Cas to come back to bed with him that morning. He wondered if Cas would have come with him if he’d gone back to the office just one more time before Cas left.

There was a knock on the door, and Claire was quick to get up to answer it.

“That’s probably Sam,” Dean said, half to himself. Emma sniffed and sat up straighter, wiping at her eyes. Dean rubbed a hand over her back.

Sure enough, it was only a moment later that Claire was leading Sam and Jess and their daughters, Krissy and Alex, into the dining room. Dean used Emma on his lap as an excuse not to stand up. Jesse just didn’t stand.

“Don’t get up on our account,” Sam said, clearly trying to lighten the mood. When that didn’t work, he frowned. “Tough crowd.”

“Please, have a seat,” Dean said. He tried to use his ‘good host’ voice, but it wasn’t going for him. The girls pulled their chairs out and sat anyway.

“I think I’ll see if Jo needs any help,” Jess said. She squeezed Dean’s shoulder on her way by.

“How’s everyone doing?” Sam asked, taking his seat beside Alex.

“Fine,” Dean said, a little too quickly.

“No you’re not,” Jesse said. Now he did sound angry.

Dean wanted to contradict him, but then he thought that retaliating would probably only make it worse. He shrugged instead. “What about you?” he asked, looking between Sam and Krissy and Alex.

Krissy and Alex both shrugged. Sam just kept an eye on Dean, as if he expected a sudden increase in the severity of his reactions.

“I found one of the books Uncle Cas lent me,” Krissy said, almost as a question. “He said I could keep it as long as I wanted, but I can bring it back.”

“Keep it,” Dean said quickly. “If you like it, just keep it.”

“What if I want to read it?” Jesse asked.

“Then ask Krissy if you can borrow it,” Dean said simply, by now sure that Jesse just wanted to start a fight. He made a mental note to sit Jesse down and figure out what his problem was.

“I hope you’re not planning on arguing all through dinner,” Jo said pointedly as she walked in, followed closely by Jess, carrying their meal.

Jesse made a face and stared moodily at his plate.

“We’ll behave,” Dean promised. He gently shooed Emma off his lap so she could take a seat in her own chair beside him.

All through dinner, it was Sam and Jess and Jo driving the conversation, though Dean tried to speak up. Thankfully Jesse didn’t snap at anyone, and Claire and Emma chimed in a few times, despite their obvious preference for not saying anything.

Dean made sure to help with cleanup – Jo might have only been trying to get him to leave his room earlier, but he still felt bad for how much she was doing by herself around the house while he had refused to leave his room.

“You really should talk about it,” Jo said quietly. Jess had gone back to the dining room to finish clearing the table, so Jo and Dean were alone in the kitchen for the moment.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean said. That was a lie. In truth, he did want to talk about it, but the only person he wanted to talk to was Cas. “He’s gone. What’s there to talk about?”

“You don’t mean that,” Jo said simply, not bothering to look up from what she was doing. “And don’t try to tell me you do.”

Dean set his jaw and refused to say anything else, especially when Jess returned. He worked in silence while they talked, sometimes about politics, sometimes about the daily goings-on of the city. Dean caught himself listening curiously, despite himself; he knew Cas would have been curious. Hell, Cas probably would have known most of it and added on details that the rest of them hadn’t had a chance to learn.

The conversation in the drawing room after dinner was strained. Often Dean caught himself looking over at Cas’ chair, always expecting to see him laughing and smiling or sitting quietly with the serious expression he always had when he was listening intently, and finding it empty. Dean tried to contribute to the discussion, but he had run through his energy for the evening and found himself just listening passively.

By the time Sam, Jess, Krissy, and Alex left, Dean was more than ready to crawl back into bed for three days, but he forced himself to take time to talk to Claire and Jesse and Emma, even though he could tell Claire and Jesse wanted to interact about as much as he did. He had a feeling Jo was listening in, keeping an eye on them, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to prove it.

“Can I stay with you tonight?” Emma asked, clinging to Dean’s hand to stop him from leaving the den after Claire and Jesse went to their rooms.

Dean sighed. “Sure you can,” he said. “Go get ready for bed. I’ll be right in.”

Emma nodded and scampered off to her room.

Dean watched her go until she disappeared down the hall before he sank into a chair and hid his face in his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean started and looked up to find Jo leaning against the doorway. “No, I don’t,” he said. “I want to talk to him, but he’s not here.”

Jo considered that for a moment. “We can go see him tomorrow,” she suggested. “We need to go to the market anyway. We can swing by to visit Cas after breakfast.”

“We?”

“Yes, we,” Jo said. “It’s been a week. No more sitting on your ass.”

Any other day Dean might have had a snarky response, but as it was he just sighed and accepted his fate as he pushed himself to his feet. “Fine. Do you need help in the morning?”

“Well, since you’re offering,” Jo said.

Dean rolled his eyes and slipped past her down the hall. “G’night Jo.”

“Goodnight.”

Emma knocked on his door just as Dean was pulling a sleeping shirt over his head. He bit his tongue when she climbed onto Cas’ side of the bed, instead crawling under the covers without a word. Emma was curled up beside him only a moment later, and she was asleep in seconds.

Dean envied her ability to fall asleep so quickly. He was awake for a while, unsure of how long. He worried about being able to continue to make ends meet (he knew he didn’t need to, what with the money his mother had left him when she had passed and the money Cas had saved, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to worry about it) and he worried about being able to hold himself together for his family.

He wondered if this had been how Cas had felt, when he’d returned home from the war (either time), when he’d worked himself to exhaustion with all his writing, when Ben had died; Dean wondered just how Cas had been able to always be so present if this was how he had felt so often. He remembered – more often than not – falling asleep while Cas was still awake, to the feeling of Cas tracing idle designs across his skin. Dean thought, with Emma sleeping soundly beside him, that he might understand what Cas had been thinking about.

*~*~*~*~*

Dean really _really_ didn’t want to be here. He’d go to the market with Jo, sure, but he knew he should insist on visiting Cas some other time.

He didn’t insist, and instead found himself following Jo through a maze of headstones, looking anywhere but where they were going.

The day was overcast and windy, with a distinct electric smell in the distance. Dean couldn’t find it in himself to care.

When they reached their destination, Dean clamped his jaw shut so hard it hurt. It was bad enough to visit Ben, but it was so much worse to see the fresh dirt in the plot next to him, without even a headstone to mark its place yet.

“Hi Cas,” Jo said, when they’d been standing in front of the grave in silence for a considerable amount of time. She glanced over at Dean with a pointed look, but Dean just stared at the ground, every muscle in his body tense. “We just wanted to say hi,” Jo continued, shifting her gaze from her brother to the barren plot. “Everyone’s okay. Upset, but okay.” She was quiet again, waiting for Dean to say something. When he didn’t she added, “We all miss you.”

Dean made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, but managed to cut it off before it turned into a sob. He turned to face away from the grave, running a hand down his face. He didn’t react when Jo took his arm and led him away.

“I thought you might say something,” Jo said a few minutes later, after Dean had had a chance to pull himself together.

“I can’t,” Dean said softly. “He can’t answer me.”

Jo gave him an odd look, but she didn’t mention it. Instead, she started leading the way down the different stalls in the market.

Dean followed quietly. A few of his friends, even some of Cas’ friends, stopped him when they saw him to offer their condolences, and he answered them as politely as he could. Lisa and Samandriel both asked how he was doing, if he needed any help, if he wanted to talk, and it took all his willpower not to snap at them.

By the time they returned home, Dean was too irritated to be of much use, so Jo sent him away to cool off with a friendly, “Come back when you don’t smell so threatening.”

Dean wanted to go back to bed, but he also didn’t want to go back to bed. He didn’t really want to do anything, but he also didn’t want to not do anything. Before he really knew where he was going, he ended up in Cas’ office, which hadn’t been touched since that morning.

Dean sank heavily in the chair at the desk, running his hands over the upholstery. There were a few pages on the desk full of half-written drafts. Dean picked one up and inspected it; he could tell it was a revision of something – the writing was more careful and more evenly spaced than when Cas wrote a first draft.

He set the paper down and glanced around the room. There were cabinets on one wall, and the view out the window on the other really was a sight, looking out over the river. Dean lost track of time watching boats travel up and down the water, but at some point his gaze drifted down to an old footlocker. He recognized it as the one Cas had had during the revolution, and after a moment’s consideration, he pushed himself out of the chair and knelt beside the trunk.

The leather covering on the trunk was old and worn soft, considerably thinner on the edges than it had been. The latches were discolored, but otherwise were in good condition. Dean was glad the thing was unlocked, because he didn’t think he had the patience to go digging for a key.

The amount of correspondence in the trunk was incredible, and every piece Dean could see was dated during the war. There were several letters to and from people whose names Dean didn’t recognize, and several scrap pieces of paper with notes hurriedly written on them. A leather-bound diary was placed neatly on top, with a few others stacked beneath it. And that was just the first layer.

Dean took out the diaries first, setting them aside for later. He took out the letters one by one, careful to keep them in the proper order. He glanced over them, but didn’t read them too thoroughly, when he read them at all.

There were newspapers, yellow and thin with age, under the letters. There were well-known ones from earlier in the war, when they were in New York, and a few from smaller towns Cas must have passed through. Some Dean remembered seeing, others he didn’t.

Dean paused in his search and made sure the papers and diaries were stacked neatly out of the way before he moved his attention to the other half of the trunk.

There was a newspaper there, the _Times_ on the day Dean and Cas had been married. Dean smiled down at it through the tears in his eyes. He hadn’t known Cas had kept a paper from that day. He set the paper aside and turned back to the trunk, only to pause with his hand poised above the pages he saw.

It was a thick bundle, tied together with twine. Dean recognized the first letter immediately.

 

_Dean,_

_I wished to thank you again for your company a few nights ago. You are an excellent dancer, and I thank you for not stepping on my toes. I was quite intrigued by what you told me of yourself, and, if I may be so bold, I would like to request continued correspondence with you. I have thought of you often here, and I wish for nothing more than to learn more about you._

_I am,_  
                  _Your most humble Servant to command,_  
_C. Novak_

 

Dated 1780.

Dean couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t seen that letter in years. He tried to think of how Cas might have gotten a hold of it, and vaguely remembered Cas asking him, at least a decade and a half ago, if he’d kept the letters Cas had sent him.

And of course he had. He’d kept them in a box under the bed. But he hadn’t looked at them in years, and Cas had taken them with a promise to keep them together and safe.

Dean had forgotten all about that. How had he forgotten about that?

He removed the letters and untied the twine carefully, and under the first letter, he found his response. He continued to flip letters over only to find the very next one that had been sent, all in order. He reread some of them – or what he could through the film of tears in his eyes.

*~*~*~*~*

After dinner that night, Dean went back to Cas’ office. He turned letters over all night, reading through the conversations he’d had with Cas so many years ago.

The bundle that had been in Cas’ footlocker went all the way up to when Cas had come home from the war, and by the time Dean reached the last letter, he had a genuine smile on his face for the first time since that morning.

He repacked the trunk, making sure each page was back where it had been, and promised himself he’d go back through it some other time. For the moment, he took a seat at Cas’ desk, where he’d laid out papers and an ink well. For a few minutes, he just stared at the blank pages, willing them to write down what he wanted to say of their own accord.

When Dean finally picked up the quill pen, he still wasn’t sure exactly what he wanted to say. He put pen to paper and started writing anyway.

 

_Cas,_

_I found some of our old letters today. I didn’t know you’d kept them. It’s been more than twenty years, but you still have a way with words, you know that?_

Dean paused again. He felt like he was stalling, putting off saying what he knew he should admit. With a sigh, he started a new paragraph, writing haltingly.

 

           _Y_ _ou’ve been gone a week. It still hurts. Jo and I went to visit you, but I couldn’t say anything. I can’t talk to you knowing you won’t answer me. You always answered me. Maybe that’s why I can write – if I never send it, I know you’ll never get it. Emma talks to you though. Can you hear her? I hope you can. I hope you can’t hear Jesse though. He’s really mad at you for the duel. I think Claire is too, but she’s been quiet. She takes after me like that, I guess._

_I wish you hadn’t gone to that duel. We’ve lost so many people in the last few years: Mom, Donna, Bobby, Adam, Ben, and now you? I’ve lost six people in the last decade, Cas, do you understand that? I could do it when you were here, but I can’t do it anymore. Jo’s been taking care of the place since you left because I’m not any good to anyone right now. I told her today she should go home, but she’s decided she’d rather stay with me and the kids. And she pointed out that her mate’s not around anymore either so it’s not like she’s being kept from anyone._

_I don’t know why I’m still writing. It’s not like I can take this to the post office and have them deliver it to you so you can answer me. Maybe I feel better. I don’t know. I still feel like shit. But I can’t love you any less._

_Dean (1804)_

*~*~*~*~*

 

      _Cas,_

_Have I told you about what Claire’s been up to? I think I have but I can’t find the last letter I wrote so I’ll say it again: she started heading west with a few friends. She won’t tell me specifics, but she still writes every week or so, so at least she’s okay. I’m worried about her, even though she rolled her eyes at me every time I told her to be careful before she left. In her last letter she told me that they’d run into a few traders in the mountains and had spent the day with them at a village. They gave her a fur cap, and she says it’s the warmest thing she owns. I tried not to be offended._

_Jesse started law school. He won’t tell me if he’s going because you went, or because Ben went, but he’s excited, and Sam has offered to help him. At least he’s happy again. I’m glad you didn’t see him like he was. It would have broken your heart. I know it broke mine. He came home this evening and told me he’d been to visit you. I don’t know what he told you, but I hope you heard him. Maybe help him out if you can? Not that he needs it._

_Emma’s growing like a weed. And she’s so smart Cas. She’s read through more of your library than I have, and all her teachers say she’s one of the smartest students they’ve ever had. I know she gets that from you. She remembers when you would stay up writing, and she has clippings from the articles you wrote. She wants to be like you when she grows up, God help her._

_Krissy and Alex are both Alphas, God help us all. Alex presented about the same time Krissy did, which is weird. But she seems okay, no ill effects from presenting so late. Hopefully that keeps up. They’re both still in school, doing well as far as I know. As if Sam and Jess would tell me otherwise. Maybe they would. I know that Krissy likes to go hunting with Sam. She’s an even better shot than he is (but don’t tell him I told you that)._

_Jo’s still living with me, in case you were curious. She also sold her house, so she quit living under the pretense of helping me at least. I think she’s afraid to live alone. I know I am. She won’t admit it though._

_I guess you want to know about politics nowadays too, don’t you? Abaddon has tried and failed to dismantle your Bank. I’m smug on your behalf, and I’m proud of you. Did I tell you that enough when you were around? I don’t think I did, but I’m proud of you Cas. Even if you were an idiot at the end there. I hope you’re proud of me too._

_I haven’t seen Crowley since before the duel. I heard he’s been in London, but I don’t know what he’s been up to. I thought maybe you might want to know that._

_I’m okay. I still can’t talk to you, but the writing helps, I think. It helps me think. I have letters from the last two years and I can go back and read through them and I know exactly what was going on. I can feel like you’re still here, in a way. Does that make sense? I don’t think it does._

_I hope you know I still love you. That’s another thing I don’t think I said enough. I’m sorry I was afraid to say it at first. You know I’ve loved you for a long time, don’t you? I hope you do. I love you so much._

_Dean (1806)_

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Cas,_

_Emma’s an Omega. She just presented a few days ago. She doesn’t seem to mind, but she hasn’t been out since she presented. I don’t know if she knows just how the world is going to change for her. I’m glad she’s so confident, but I’m afraid reality is going to come as a shock to her. Don’t get me wrong, I’m going to make sure she knows it’s the world that’s fucked up, not her, but I’m afraid of just how much she might change. I don’t think she will though. She’s too much like you like that. Unfortunately she’s too much like me otherwise._

_I got a letter from Boston today, from Jesse. Emily gave birth. A healthy little boy. They named him Benjamin. I went and told Ben today, but I couldn’t make myself talk to you. I’m sorry._

_Claire’s still up in Canada somewhere. I haven’t heard from her in more than a month, but I think she’s okay. I think it’s probably all the snow in the north making it hard for letters to get through. I hope that’s what it is._

_Sam and Jess and the girls just got back a week ago. It took exactly forty five minutes for Krissy to suggest they go back to South Carolina for the winter too, where it won’t be so cold when winter actually rolls around. Sam has to work though, so they’re stuck here. I still can’t believe they went to South Carolina._

_Jo found out that I write you letters. She also found out I still can’t talk to you. She didn’t really react. I think she was more impressed that she hadn’t found out in six years than surprised about what I’m doing. Who knows. She hasn’t mentioned it yet though._

_Michael isn’t such a horrible President. Certainly better than Abaddon. He’s left your Bank alone. And he’s the first President to live in Washington D.C. He’s real smug about that._

_I got a letter from Sam today and he said that they managed to overturn Michael’s veto on Sam’s bill that they passed a couple weeks ago. I can’t remember the official name, but everyone’s been referring to it as the Omega Rights Act. You know the one I’m talking about? I wrote about it when Michael vetoed it. Things are going to start looking up for a lot of people. Sam said he used one of the essays the two of you wrote during the Revolution as the base for one of his speeches in the Senate. He gave me a copy of the essay._

_I got a letter from Crowley this morning. Six years is a long time, but he apologized for the duel. He’s spoken out against dueling, which I thought you should know. I don’t know if he’s taking sides on everything now, but he’s going in the right direction. I haven’t forgiven him, but I don’t think I’ve quite forgiven you either. I haven’t answered him yet._

_I want to forgive you, I really do. I just need more time, I think. I still love you, if that helps._

_Dean (1810)_

_P.S. – It’s been thirty years since we met. If you were still here, I’d say we should go dancing. I think you’d look at me like you always did, like I was more important than anything else in the world, and you’d smile, and you’d say we could do whatever I wanted. And I’d say we should do what you want too. But you would insist that we should do what I want, because all you wanted was for me to be happy, and if I was happy, you would be happy. Does that sound like you? Maybe I’m just imagining because I miss you so damn much. I hope that’s what you would have done. That’s what you always did for me. I was so happy Cas, I hope you know that. I hope you were happy too._

_P.P.S. – I really fucking miss that look. Did I ever look at you like that? I hope I did. I love you so much._

 

*~*~*~*~*

_Cas,_

_Jo’s gone. I don’t know what happened. She got really sick really fast. It seems like everyone’s sick right now. Sam is too, and he’s been getting worse. I’m afraid of losing him. I know Jess is too._

_Thankfully Krissy and Alex and Claire haven’t been sick at all, as far as I know. They’re out doing their own things and I haven’t heard from them in a couple weeks. I think they’re okay. Jesse was sick, but I got a letter from him this morning saying he’s okay now. Emily and Ben are okay too, but Emily was so sick they think she suffered a miscarriage. She was going to see the doctor last I heard._

_Emma’s still okay. She had a cough the other day, but it hasn’t been back since._

_I can’t write anymore. I’m sorry. Maybe in a couple weeks._

_Dean (1814)_

_P.S. – I got the news last night, so it didn’t seem useful to write a new letter. Sam didn’t make it either. What am I going to do Cas? I wish you were here. You knew what to do. At the very least we could not know what to do together. I love you._

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

      _Cas,_

_I made it to France. The trip was long, but uneventful. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken French, but I think I’ve been getting by okay. I’m staying with Charlie and her family at least, so if I fuck up the language I’m not totally screwed._

_This trip was kind of last minute. Or as last minute as it can be when it takes a month and a half for a letter to get across the ocean. Charlie was glad to let me stay with her though. I told her that we were supposed to go to France together after all the kids were on their own. Do you remember promising me that? It was so long ago, I wouldn’t blame you if you forgot. You said we could stay a whole year wandering around Europe together if I wanted. I won’t be here that long, but I will be here for about a month. I’ll tell you about everything._

_I did make the trip by myself. I know you were always worried about me going places by myself, and I’ve always been worried about it too. But I’m getting old, and I can’t be bothered to give a shit about everyone else anymore. Everyone left me alone, in any case. Except one Beta who thought he was hot shit. I might have broken his nose._

_Anyway, I already wrote a letter to just about everyone back home to let them know I’m okay. It’s weird having your own kids tell you to be careful. I think I get why Claire always rolls her eyes at me now._

_Charlie’s calling me down for dinner, and then we’re going to go wander around Paris for a while. I can’t wait. I’ll think of you._

_Dean (1819)_

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Cas,_

_They have these things called ‘scent blockers’ now. They block your scent glands so you don’t have a distinctive smell. I don’t smell like an Omega anymore when I wear them. I’m upstate right now, and no one really knows me. I got a few weird looks, but overall I was treated like a person. It’s been so long Cas. I wasn’t sure what to do._

_I know it’s been a while since the last time I wrote, so I’ll try to include everything._

_Emma had a son. I kept Mary and Hannah occupied for the day and they were so concerned for their mother. They’re so much like mom. They’re so much like Emma, but Hannah is like Claire too. And you should have seen their faces when they met their little brother. Imagine a cross between mom meeting Ben and Claire meeting Jesse, so – delighted, and a little uneasy. Emma named him Castiel. She wanted to take him to meet you, but I don’t know if she’s gone yet. I hope she has. I know you’ll love him as much as the others. It’s so nice to have so much going on in the house again. I know I said that when Hannah was born too, but I can’t help it. It’s a big house Cas._

_Speaking of children, Jesse and Emily had a daughter. They named her Deanna, after my grandmother. Also after me a little, I guess. But I was named after her too, so who knows. I took a detour to visit them in Watertown before I came up here. Jesse’s mellowed out so much Cas. He’s still a kick-ass lawyer, don’t get me wrong, but he’s so much more relaxed than he was after Ben, but I guess twenty three years does that to a person. I hope you’ve been keeping an eye on him._

_Claire is out west, I think. She came home to visit a few weeks ago. It’d been years since she’d been home, and you wouldn’t believe how much she’s changed. She’s still Claire, but she’s rougher, I think. Older, obviously. She’s forty this year, can you believe that? She’s still not mated, but you’d probably guessed that already. I still tease her about it sometimes. She still rolls her eyes at me. Not much has changed, really. She told me she was heading out to California. I know it’ll take a long time for her to get there. Maybe she’s on the other side of the mountains by now._

_Krissy’s in Georgia and Jess moved in with her a couple months ago. Alex is in Dakota. I haven’t heard from them since Jess moved, but I sent a letter a few days ago, so we’ll see._

_Kevin Tran passed away, a while ago. I ran into Benny last time I went into the City, and apparently the two of them had been in touch for a while. Anyway Benny told me Kevin hadn’t been in the best of health for the last couple of years, and one day his heart gave out on him. I went to visit his grave for you._

_Charlie made it to the states for a visit a month or so ago. She and Gilda and their family stayed with us for a week before they moved on, going further north to visit other relatives or something. We didn’t talk about anything significant, but talking about family isn’t something that gets old. We talked about you at one point too. They asked what you’d been up to before the duel. Of course they knew, but it was nice to talk about you again. I took Charlie to visit you, and she talked to you for a few minutes. She asked me why I don’t say anything of any significance to you, when I will with ~~Ben and Jo and Sam and my mom and Adam and Bobby~~ everyone else. Honestly? I don’t know anymore. I told her that, but she couldn’t help me think of anything. Maybe writing’s just familiar. I don’t know._

_I’m okay. My joints bother me, but I’m pushing seventy, so I guess I shouldn’t expect anything else. I’ve gone through so much of your writing recently. (I showed an old essay to Emma, one that we hadn’t seen in a while, and she said she was still determined to do that – write like you did. Maybe with the scent blockers she’ll be able to. I think she will.) When I read what you wrote, I can still hear you, clear as day. I think that’s when I miss you the most. I miss you all the time, obviously, but it doesn’t hurt so much anymore. I like to sit with you and read sometimes, when I’m back home._

_I’m probably forgetting something, but that’s all I have for now. Until next time. I love you._

_Dean (1824)_

_P.S. – I knew I forgot something. I heard from Eliza today. The orphanage is finally open. I know I told you I’d made a donation in your name, but I feel like I should tell you that they’ve named a wing for you too. I didn’t ask them to do that, but that’s just how the Hamiltons are. I wish you could have met them Cas. But maybe you did meet Alex. He’s from Nevis too, and he grew up about the same time you did. He said your name had always sounded familiar, but he couldn’t remember why._

_You should see the two of them together Cas. They’re unstoppable – two of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You would’ve liked them._

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Cas,_

_The world’s crazy, you know? Emma’s been published. She wrote an essay and sent it in to the_ Times _, and would you believe it, they liked it enough to publish it. She was over the moon, as you’d expect. She’s going this afternoon to bring a clipping to show you. She’s so damn proud, and I’m so proud of her. I think you are too._

_Claire moved back home. She meant to just visit, but her carriage overturned on her way here, and her leg’s really fucked up. I wasn’t comfortable with her living by herself like that. And since Emma and her family moved to Long Island, I don’t think she was comfortable with me living by myself. I guess it was a win-win situation. Jesse and Emma have both offered to let me and Claire live with them, but I don’t think I’m ready to give up this house. I think we’ll be okay on our own for a little while. It’s good to have her home, anyway._

_Ben’s son Bobby started school today. I wish I could have been there. Jesse’s bringing everyone down to visit for a few weeks, so the house will be full again for a while. I can’t wait; it gets lonely sometimes._

_Krissy’s mate passed away in an accident on her way home from England. I wish I could have been down for the funeral, but I’m not up for traveling much these days. I can make it upstate, or to Long Island, or to visit Jesse in Massachusetts, but that’s about as much as I can handle. Be lucky you never had to get old, Cas. Eighty’s a bitch._

_Have I told you Crowley died? I’m not sure why I got a letter when he did. I went to his funeral anyway. I’ve moved on from the duel. I moved on a long time ago. Did I tell you that? I forgive you. I’m proud of you. I can see you in each of our grandchildren, and now our great-grandchildren. Did I tell you Samuel is just as serious as you were when you were younger? He’s three now you know. He won’t let any of us even call him Sam. I think Sammy’d get a kick out of that. Can you imagine if we called our three year old great-grandson Samuel, and my seventy-six year old brother Sammy? None of us would ever live that down. I told Sam that last week. I think it’s something he would have laughed at._

_And then there’s little Jo. She talks now. Or babbles, anyway. I hope she’s like my sister. Anyone would be lucky to be like her._

_Maybe it won’t be so many months before I remember to write you again. Does that mean I’m better? That I don’t need to write to you all the time? I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep the other day so I went to watch the sunrise with you._

_Until next time, my love._

_Dean (1837)_

 

*~*~*~*~*

 

      _Cas,_

 _Emma and I finally finished going through all your essays. We’ve compiled them and had them published. Or Emma has, really. Since she’s writing for the_ Times _regularly, she has a bit of leverage with publishers. We’re just finishing up on getting a timeline of the war put together from your diaries and from the interviews with the other soldiers you fought with. It’s a project that’s been in the works for so long I never thought I’d see the end of it, but here we are, almost at the end._

_I went to visit the orphanage the other day. I go down every so often. I read to the pups, or I’ll teach the older ones piano or help them with their French. Some days they help me with my French. They call me grandpa. Eliza’s taken to calling me grandpa as well. She’s not that much younger than me Cas._

_I don’t keep up with politics too much anymore, but something caught my eye that I think you would have liked. There’s an Omega running for the New York State Senate. He’s not running on a major ticket so his chances probably aren’t very good, but from what I can tell he’s a stand-up guy. I’m voting for him. See Cas? They let me vote now. They let an Omega run. We’re making progress. Emma’s so excited. I’m glad she’s not as old as I am the first time she gets to vote. I’m glad all our grandkids will get to vote the majority of their adult lives. I’m glad our great-grandkids will get to vote their whole lives._

_There’s a lot more I want to say, but I don’t have the energy right now. I’ve had a long day, but don’t worry, I have a stack of letters with all the exciting goings-on of our family, and I’ll get you updated as soon as I answer everyone._

_Dean (1838)_

_P.S. – It’s your birthday today. Some years I notice and some years I don’t. Some years I don’t notice my own birthday. I know we never really celebrated for ourselves, but I wish we had. There are more wishes as time goes on, I think. I wish we would have asked Jo to watch the pups and gone to Europe together. I wish we would have taken more time for just the two of us. I wish we would have gone on more midnight rides together, when everything was quiet._

_But you know what? I’m so glad we did the things we did. I’m glad we went upstate so often. I’m glad we took the time we did to be alone together. I’m glad we got to help each other. I’m glad we had a family. I’m so damn proud of our family Cas._

_More than all that, I’m so grateful we got to love each other._

*~*~*~*~*

 

_Cas,_

_I know I usually update you on what everyone else is doing, but I think I need to talk about me. After ninety years I think I’m entitled._

_That sounded angry. I’m not angry. I’m tired. I mean, fuck, I’m ninety years old. Cas, we met when we were twenty-three. That was sixty-seven years ago. When you died, you had only been in about half of my life. I got to spend half of your time with you, but you were only with me for twenty-four of ninety years, and counting. And I’ve loved and missed you every day since you’ve been gone, all forty-three years._

_Sure, I’ve been going about my life for a long time, but that doesn’t mean you stopped existing for me. You changed my life. I know you know that. We changed each other, but it’s different than that. I didn’t know, when I was a teenager, whether I would get the kind of happiness you gave me. We have such a big family Cas. I’m around to see our great-grandchildren. And my_ siblings’ _great-grandchildren. Who gets to say that?_

_They’re worth it you know. All the shit we went through, I’d do it again if it meant I could end up here. I’d make it so you came back to bed that morning though, because I wish you could see them._

_I can tell I’m ~~getting~~ old. It’s hard to hold the pen to write this. My back hurts. I wear bifocals all the time and I still have trouble seeing. And arthritis is a pain in the ass and the neck and everywhere else. My siblings are all gone, you’re gone. Claire’s sixty-three. I just feel old. _

_Maybe I’ll see you soon. Don’t worry, I know you told me to take my time, so I won’t go rushing off to see you. I just don’t know how much longer I have. But if I see you, I see you. If not, I’ll write soon. I promise._

_Dean (1847)_

*~*~*~*~*

Dean stood in front of Cas’ grave, leaning heavily on his cane. He had trouble standing up straight anymore, but the fond look in his eye was the same as it had always been, even if his eyesight wasn’t anywhere near what it had been.

He glanced to his right to see Ben’s grave, Claire’s beside it. He couldn’t help but think, not for the first time, that parents shouldn’t have to bury their children.

The day was warm, with a pleasant breeze drifting across the cemetery. He’d already visited his mom and Sam and Jess and Jo. This was his last stop for the day.

“Are you okay, granddad?” Bobby asked.

Dean glanced over at his great-grandson, smiling slightly. “I’m fine.”

Bobby had a puzzled look on his face, but he nodded anyway.

Dean turned his attention back to the headstone, to the second date. “Well, Cas, it’s been fifty years to the day since the duel,” he said. “I thought it was about time I said something to you.” He paused, shifted his stance, moved his cane in front of him instead of to his right. Of course he’d spoken since the day of the duel, but it was always in passing, never anything significant. It seemed that whenever he was standing in front of Cas’ grave, he couldn’t quite form the words he wanted. “Do you remember when we met? You bent to kiss my hand. I’d never seen an Alpha do that before, especially not for an Omega. And I haven’t seen it since, even with how much better things are now.” He chuckled to himself. “Of all the things I’ve told you, I don’t think I told you how much that meant to me. And I’ve told you damn near everything else.”

Dean heard a shuffle behind him and he turned to see Bobby shifting from one foot to the other. He smiled. Bobby smiled back.

“I would have come today regardless,” he said, extending a hand to Bobby. “But today is special.”

Bobby stepped forward and held out the bundle in his arms. He kept close to Dean, just in case, but he trusted his grandfather to be careful, even with his present physical state.

“Cas, this is James,” Dean said, turning to face Cas’ headstone again. “Bobby’s first son. He was born just a few weeks ago.” Dean had tears in his eyes, but he didn’t move to wipe them away, didn’t trust himself to make the motion. “He’s our great-great-grandson, Cas.” Dean took a shaky breath and looked down at the pup in his arms. He’d held a lot of pups in his life, but each of them always felt new and special. He took another breath to steady himself and held James out for Bobby again, not trusting himself to be able to stand without his cane for much longer.

“We’re going upstate, Cas,” Dean said, leaning heavily on his cane once more. “I don’t know how long we’ll be there. Or if I’ll make it back.” Dean chose to ignore Bobby’s concerned look. “I’ll keep writing to you. If I make it back home later this year, I’ll come visit again. But if I don’t, I want you to know that I love you.”

Dean finally ran a hand down his face. He stood in silence for a few minutes before he turned to leave.


	23. Epilogue

Dean woke up unsure of his surroundings. The room was warm, and familiar smells drifted in on a pleasant breeze that came in from the open window. That was strange, considering he was sure he was supposed to be at the estate in upstate New York, and it should have been October. And those smells were coming from a city, not the countryside.

He sat up carefully, realizing that the aches and pains in his muscles and joints were gone. He looked down at himself, surprised to see that he looked young again; gone were the swollen, arthritic joints and wrinkled, cracked skin.

The sounds of people outside drew Dean’s attention, and he walked to the window. Outside was Harlem, with all the foot traffic and playing children he had lived among so many years ago.

It came as a shock when Dean realized he was in the house he and Cas had owned in Harlem – their first house together. There was the water damage around the window sill, and a quick check revealed that one of the bedside tables still had one leg that was shorter than the others. There was a stain on the table beside Cas’ side of the bed, from always setting his quill down and never bothering to let it sit in the ink well at night, no matter how many times Dean had asked him to keep his work in the study those first few years.

As if in a trance, Dean wandered through the house. It was all exactly as he remembered it, when they were only starting out together, before the Cabinet and before the pups; before the Constitution and before the duels.

When he made it to the back door, Dean heard voices and laughter, and there was a familiar smell in the air that he didn’t want to think about.

Curious, and a little concerned, he opened the back door to the yard. There had never been much space back there, but there was a host of familiar faces, and Dean was struck dumb, his mouth working but no sound coming out. Everyone else fell silent, but Dean was so startled he wasn’t sure he was seeing everything right.

“Dean!” Sam said, bounding over to embrace his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean asked, disbelief coloring his voice even as he wrapped his arms around his brother. He didn’t bother to try to fight the tears. Forty years was a long time to be away from a sibling. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten just how much of a presence Sam had. He wanted to tell Sam about his grandchildren, his great-grandchildren. He wanted to tell Sam about the grandson named Samuel. He tried, but the words never made it past his throat.

“None for us?” someone asked after a moment.

Dean glanced over his shoulder and almost lost his footing when he saw Adam and Jo smiling at him, looking as they had at their prime, more than half a century ago. He grabbed them in a group hug, the full weight of his years without them not doing anything to stop the flow of tears streaming down his face. He knew Adam’s grandchildren too – one was a politician, one was an author.

A moment later, Dean pulled back from them, wiping at his eyes. He started to turn around, but his eye caught on someone, and he thought his heart was going to break free of his chest.

“Ben?” he asked, his voice coming out in a rasp.

Ben nodded. He looked as he had more than fifty years before, just before the duel. Dean had never been able to get the image of his son that day out of his mind, and now all of the emotions of that day so long ago and the years between came rushing back to him, and he pulled Ben into a close hug, afraid he might lose him again.

“It’s okay dad,” Ben said. He tried to keep his voice steady, but there were tears on his cheeks too.

Dean sobbed a laugh. He had never once thought he’d see Ben again, but here they were. “I love you, you know that?” Dean said, not loosening his grip on Ben.

“I love you too,” Ben said.

Dean held onto his son for longer than was entirely necessary, but Ben didn’t try to pull away, so he was going to stand there as long as he could.

When he did break away, he had finally gotten his breathing back under control. He tried to wipe his face, but he had a feeling he wasn’t doing anything to help his appearance. He caught Claire smirking at him, and it was such a familiar sight that Dean actually laughed when he hugged her.

And then there was that smell again, but Dean tried not to give in to it; it was simply too good to be true, and he’d had too much of that for one day.

“Dean,” came a voice from just behind him.

Dean felt himself freeze. He saw Ben smile at him, saw Claire give him a pointed look and jerk her chin toward the space over Dean’s shoulder, and that didn’t help slow his pulse. The air seemed to have stilled around him as he turned and found himself staring into familiar blue eyes.

“Cas?” Dean asked, his voice barely audible. His vision had started to swim again.

Cas nodded, and smiled, and held his arms out in front of him.

Dean buried his face in the crook of Cas’ neck, his fingers digging into the fabric of Cas’ coat, afraid to let go.

“Cas, is this real?” Dean asked between muffled sobs.

“Of course it’s real,” Cas whispered, his grip on Dean’s back firm and unrelenting. Desperate.

“Where are we?”

“Harlem.”

Dean laughed, a wet sound. “I know that part,” he said, smiling against Cas’ neck.

“Heaven,” Cas said. “And this is our corner of it.”

Dean pulled back enough to look around at the now empty yard. He met Cas’ gaze. “Ours?” he asked.

Cas nodded, resting his forehead against Dean’s. “I apologize for everyone else being here,” he said. “That must have been overwhelming. We thought we had another few days before you joined us.”

“Don’t apologize,” Dean said. “It was…good, to see everyone again.”

Cas smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “We can see them again later, when you’ve adjusted.”

“Where are they?” Dean wondered.

“Back in their own heavens. We can contact them, but later,” Cas said. He had a wicked grin on his face, and Dean was struck by just how young he looked, how dark his hair was, how bright his eyes were. “Right now, I would rather have you to myself.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. “I missed you,” he said. “It’s been so long.”

Cas’ smile softened. “I _did_ ask you to take your time,” he said, leaning forward so his lips were only an inch from Dean’s.

Dean hesitated for only a moment before he closed the distance between them. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d imagined – _remembered_ – kissing Cas in the past fifty years, and the sensation was intoxicating. And here, where it seemed his body was back in its early twenties, he was reacting as he hadn’t in years, even when Cas had still been around. He wrapped his arms around Cas’ shoulders and held him closer, trying to get rid of the distance between them.

Cas chuckled against Dean, his grip tightening for a moment before he pulled away and gently pulled Dean’s hands off his shoulders so he could hold them in his own hands. He smiled at the confused look on Dean’s face, and jerked his chin back toward the house.

Dean let himself be led into the house and back upstairs to the bedroom.

“It looks just like it did,” Dean said wistfully, still not quite able to believe it.

Cas paused and watched Dean, trying to memorize the awed look on Dean’s face. He realized it was nearly the exact same look Dean had had on his face on their wedding night, the first time he’d seen the house. Only now there was more weight; this wasn’t a new place, this was coming home.

“Do you remember our first night here?” Cas asked.

Dean smiled at the memory – at all the memories of being in this house: good, bad and otherwise. “Of course I do,” he said. “And all the nights after that.”

Cas smiled and led Dean to the bed, sitting against the headboard. Dean curled up beside him, acutely aware of the warmth and comfort he felt here with his mate that he had been lacking for the past half century.

“I love you,” Dean said, looking up to meet Cas’ gaze.

“I love you too,” Cas said, shifting so he was holding Dean in his arms, close to his chest. All the times he’d imagined the day Dean would join him, and he hadn’t been able to dream up the perfectly content feeling that settled around his heart. “And I’m still all yours.”

Dean leaned up and kissed Cas once, twice, before he settled back down and wrapped an arm around Cas’ midriff. Unconsciously his hand started to trace over Cas’ skin, looking for the scars that had once lined his skin. His hand didn’t still when he found no scars.

“Why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to all these years?” Cas asked after a few moments passed in silence.

Dean chuckled. “A lot’s happened,” he said.

“Tell me,” Cas said gently, kissing Dean’s forehead, his nose, his lips. “We have so much time.”

“And you promised you’d stay with me as long as I want,” Dean reminded him, poking him in the ribs.

Cas smiled, his forehead resting against Dean’s. “I did promise that, didn’t I?”


End file.
